


The Four Corners of the Earth

by veinsoffire



Category: Big Bang (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha!Jungkook, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Empath!Seokjin, Fantasy AU, Intersex Omegas, Kitsune, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega!Jin, Omegaverse, Original Character(s), Prince!Seokjin, Prince!Taehyung, Prince!jimin, Regent!Namjoon, RoyalGuard!Yoongi, SuperSpeed!Jungkook, Telekinetic!Namjoon, air elemental taehyung, alpha!TOP, alpha!hoseok, alpha!namjoon, alpha!yoongi, bet none of you saw that one coming eh, firemage!GD, kitsune!taehyung, like loads of em, omega!GD, omega!jimin, omega!seokjin, omega!taehyung, prince!jungkook, royalguard!TOP, this is my first blowjob scene I just want to meet it way from myself, uh, wait now its king!JK, warlock!hoseok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veinsoffire/pseuds/veinsoffire
Summary: It comes as a surprise when three princes, each from their own corner of the world, are summoned by the warlocks to a summit held in the mountains of the North-Eastern kingdom of Pyeongchang, where the infamous Floating Palace and it's own enigmatic prince awaits.Little do they know that there are even more surprises waiting for them.





	1. Prince Seokjin, Omega.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note: At the time I wrote the relevant chapters, I had no idea the shitstorm involving Seungri was gonna go down, obviously. So, I don't know if having him play the brothel master was some sort of shitty prophetic power presenting itself or just an indication of how unsurprised all of us should have been, I have no idea. I'm still debating on whether I should change it, so if you want to weigh in on that(in as respectful a manner as possible, of course), go right ahead.

 

The first thing Seokjin remembers is his mother’s love. Long before he was physically cognisant of anything else, he could feel what those around him were feeling, and the memory of the soft warmth he felt in his mind from her stayed with him.

 

He also remembers exactly when it stopped.

 

He’d still been very little, playing in his nursery under the watchful eye of his favourite nanny when he felt it. Sorrow so thick and pungent it had had him clutching his head in his tiny little hands and screaming. His nanny, scared out of her wits, scooped him up and ran all the way to the healer’s wing, further away but not far enough from the royal suite, where the true source of his pain was. After looking over Seokjin from head to toe and having no clue as to what was causing his distress, the doctor surmised that it had to be something beyond his abilities and as such summoned the warlocks. By the time the warlocks had arrived from their respective wing of the castle, Seokjin’s frightened little wails had subsided to exhausted little whimpers, his throat raw and his head throbbing. When both his nanny and the doctor had been questioned three separate times by three separate purple-robed figures of indeterminate gender or caste, the warlocks finally turned their attention to him. For the first time since that first burst of sorrow, he felt something else.

 

Curiosity, quickly followed by certainty.

 

The little prince was an empath. And what had caused him such distress was his mother, losing yet another babe to the clutches of death.

 

After several miscarriages, Seokjin was the first child his mother carried to term, and it seems he would be the only one. Despite this, Queen Minseo greatly resented her only child for not being born an alpha. It was her greatest shame to have been the cause of the break in a line of succession that had gone unbroken for nearly ten generations.

 

His father, King Seokju was disappointed as well, but chose to focus on the future, making what preparations he could for the end of a dynasty. He knew he could not change the zeitgeist of an entire kingdom in his reign alone, especially a kingdom so notoriously set in its ways, but he would do what he could. He came to be known as the first king to select omegas for roles within the royal council. He famously changed the laws restricting omegas from owning properties or businesses. From these changes he also brought about improved trade with the far more progressive northern kingdoms, all before his son turned ten. A great deal of people, mostly traditionalists, despised him. But he came to realise that this handful of nay-sayers was far outweighed by the vast amount of people in his kingdom who now adored him.

 

He made the decision to limit his son’s exposure to his wife and chose to compensate for this by spending more time with him in her stead. It made for a strenuous schedule at first, but it became clear that Seokjin did not mind following after his father, even into meetings that could drag on for hours and that had no entertainment value for a little one. Seokjin learnt at his father’s knee, and eventually every official within the royal retinue knew not to voice any opinions on the presence of a little omega in places where state matters were discussed.

 

Ironically, Seokjin grew to be everything his mother and sundry would have been proud of had he been of a different caste. He was self-assured, firm but understanding, loud when he needed to be and quiet when he didn’t. He never stopped attending state meetings, and eventually even partook in them, to the grumbling of almost everyone present.

 

Even physically he did not conform to what an omega would normally be. He matched his statuesque father in height and shoulder-width, he kept his hair short and refused to wear the long, flowing robes expected of him, unless the fancy struck him and he wanted to delight in shocking whoever would be in his company that day.

 

He became known for his rather extravagant choices of clothing, bold colours and cuts that accentuated his rather androgynous features. He liked to contrast his broad shoulders with his tiny waist, his striking eyes with his plush lips. All in all, he just really liked to perplex people.

 

When he was sixteen and already had a sound reputation for mystifying, he made a rather starling discovery about his ability.

 

He was in the company of one Chong Byungho when he sensed from the boy something that had him shuddering in revulsion.

 

Arousal.

 

It was by no means the first time he had experienced such a thing, and in fact had almost gotten blasé about sensing it from alphas that could have easily been his grandfather, despite him not even having had his first heat yet. But this one, this Byungho who was just a year older than him, had set off alarm bells in Seokjin’s head. For it was not just plain old, ‘let-me-knot-you arousal’, but the ‘let-me-knot-you-and-make-you-bleed’ variation. So disgusted had he been that he had subconsciously reached out to the boy’s mind and simply…twisted. Byungho had physically jolted upright from where he had been practically panting into Seokjin’s neck, and had removed himself from the room so fast it was like he had left his shadow behind.

 

Seokjin himself had been so startled, he’d sat there stock-still for a full minute before he’d gotten up and rushed to the only person he could trust to know what had happened.

 

His father had been sparring with General Yi at the time, but had promptly left the General staring at empty space when he saw his son rush into his private sparring room, out of breath and looking green. He’d ushered his son into his study and sat him down with a cup of honeyed tea, as his eomma had always done for him in times of upset.

 

“What is the matter Jinnie? What happened?”

 

Seokjin took a deep, fortifying breath and instead of telling his father what had happened, he settled for cryptically asking, “Appa, have you ever…changed people?”

 

Seokju frowned. As a king, he’d of course had influence over the lives of thousands. But he had a feeling that was not what his son was referring to.

 

His son had inherited his unique ability from somewhere, after all. Not that anyone but Seokjin and the Head Warlock knew about it. “You mean have I ever used my telepathy to influence others?”

 

Seokjin nodded, staring at the stone floor at his feet.

 

Seokju heaved a great sigh, and knew it would be of no use to try and hide his sudden rush of sympathy from his son.

 

The boy slumped where he sat, tears pooling in his eyes, “How can you bear it? How can you trust anyone to be truly themselves?”

 

Seokju rushed to sit next to his son and embrace him, heedless of his own sweaty state. “I have only ever used it twice, perhaps three times, each in self-preservation.” A sudden thought struck him, and he felt himself go cold with fury. “Seokjin. Who tried to hurt you?”

 

The boy sniffled, “It doesn’t matter. He won’t harm me, or possibly anyone. Ever. Not now, after what I did. And it is not like you can punish someone for what they feel.”

 

Seokju huffed into his son’s hair, his milky familial scent calming him down. “Nobody would have to know.” he half-joked.

 

His son snorted, “You’ve never been known to do anything quietly.”

 

“Neither have you.” He tugged pointedly if gently at his son’s bright pink hair. How he had managed the feat was beyond him, but he had already spotted several of the younger court-goers sporting sad imitations.

 

His son laughed that horribly endearing laugh of his, like an un-oiled window being swung open and shut, and Seokju felt himself settle. Even at such a young age, he could trust his son’s instincts. He could understand all too well that one could not retain one’s innocence very long with abilities like theirs. Perhaps his ready acceptance of their dying dynasty was due to the hope that their curse would die with it.

 

The incident brought home for the King something else he would have to start worrying about. Seokjin was bound to start having heats soon, and with them he would be eligible for marriage. Seokju would rather be drawn and quartered than let his son anywhere near a marriage bed before he was a round twenty-five, but he still had to find someone worthy of both his son and the throne before the time came. The gods knew he couldn’t just hand either over to some young little knot-head with no sense.

 

The very thought terrified him.

 

Little did he know that his concern had been for nothing.

 

Seokjin’s first heat came not long after, and as the only alpha immune to his scent it would have fallen to Seokju to guard the door from any roaming idiot alphas. Normally the duty would fall to an alpha sibling or even cousins and uncles, but Seokju was a wise king.

 

A wise king who would rather guzzle horse-piss than listen to anything that might escape the room, and so he assembled the kingdom’s first every Omega Guard. It was made up of mostly trusted servants and attendants, and did not look all that intimidating, seated outside the Prince’s door doing various domestic things such as knitting or needlework, but the gods have mercy on whoever underestimated a protective omega armed with sharp objects of any kind.

 

Seokju was preparing himself for the next battle, which would be fending off suitors left and right, but it would all be for nothing.

 

Three days after it began, Seokjin emerged from his rooms appearing even more devastatingly handsome than before, and immediately received no less than fourteen roses from various alphas. He took great delight in politely accepting the roses with a charming and flattered smile, only to efficiently crush any hope the alpha might have had of someday being his mate.

 

The reports came to Seokju as he was having his weekly supper with Minseo, and he laughed himself sick until his delight was soured by his embittered wife.

 

“Yet another useless womb in the family.” she muttered monotonously into her soup.

 

Seokju had never wanted to harm his wife in any way until that moment. He pushed back violently from the table, startling her into displaying the first feeling besides resentment in years, and he stormed from the her quarters.

 

Ever since that fateful day he had been putting up with her nigh intolerable rancorous attitude, because despite everything, he still loved her. Despite knowing from the moment he met her that she did not love him back, he loved her. To his detriment.

 

He recalls the day he had decided to ban her from seeing their son without him present. She had still been recovering from the stillbirth of the baby alpha, and Seokjin had been playing on the carpet in her room with a pinched expression. He hadn’t liked being around her since his ability was discovered on the day of the stillbirth, but Seokju had still had hope that the sight of him would cheer her up. But then he had become aware of how dark her thoughts regarding their son had become, and vividly projected the image of smothering their son with a pillow. She had no idea of Seokju’s ability, of course, and as such had been rather startled when he’d stood up suddenly and rushed out with their son in his arms.

 

He knew she was suffering, that such thoughts were the product of her own sorrow and declining self-worth, and as such had offered in the past to send her away to one of the country-estates, but every time she had refused on the grounds that she would be alone. He had conceded, and had stuck to keeping her away from his son as much as he could.

 

He wasn’t offering anymore.

 

She had given him the greatest joy in his life, but he would not stand for her blighting it in such a way. She would have to leave.

 

The very next week she was carriage-bound for the country-side where her family lived, and Seokjin stood beside his father as they saw her off, a confused frown on his face. He knew of his mother’s resentment towards him despite Seokju’s best efforts, but thankfully didn’t know that his mother was now disappearing over the horizon because she had been ordered to.

 

For a while, they had a bit of peace. Seokjin continued to turn down any and all suitors, and Seokju tried to make what differences he can to his kingdom.

 

When Seokjin’s twenty-fifth birthday rolled around, however, Seokju actually did start to worry. For all his talk of his son not marrying until he was good and ready, he still had a kingdom to think of and there seemed to be nobody even remotely suitable in sight. Normally finding a mate for one’s royal offspring wasn’t difficult, but normally said mate wouldn’t be entitled to an entire kingdom. For all the change Seokju had brought about during his reign, he knew handing the throne over to his omega son was -as of yet- out of the question. Even if he knew his son to be more than qualified, most of his council would rather spit up cats than ever bow to an omega, and despite the supposed supremacy of the throne, it was nothing without people to back it. He had already stretched their patience thin with his ‘radical’ ways.

 

Meanwhile there was some troubling news from the other kingdoms.

 

The South-Western Kingdom of Gunsan’s King Jeonghoon had been assassinated, but had supposedly seen it coming if his very peculiar choice of regents was anything to go by. His step-brother Namgi and his son, Namjoon had been chosen as Prince Jeongguk wasn’t of age yet. This meant possible tension with Busan, the South-Eastern Kingdom that Seokju was the ruler of.

 

The Northern Kingdoms, Icheon and Pyeongchang were both on the precipice of succession, it seemed, and for Icheon, it was predicted to be a shaky handover. HIs spies could tell him very little, but he knew that there was some contention as to who would inherit the throne due to some cousin having inherited the family gifts earlier than someone who was higher up in the line of succession than he was. The very idea made Seokju tired. The traditions of his own kingdom seemed so simple in comparison, yet here he was, having to put the burden of a potentially loveless marriage just to appease the angry old men on his council.

 

When he was still very young and his elder brothers had still been alive, Seokju had visited the Northern Kingdoms with his father, King Seokhyun. His memories of that time are very vague, but he remembers well the floating palace in Pyeongchang and the walled-in, icy fortress in Icheon. The Northern Kingdoms were known for their supposedly strange customs, which involved a purely omega line of succession for both kingdoms, and rather terrifying abilities passed down along the royal line. Seokju’s own family was by no means unremarkable when it came to otherworldly abilities, but hearing people’s thoughts or feelings tended to pale in comparison to making an entire building float or freezing an entire lake solid with the touch of a hand.

 

The feast honouring the Prince’s twenty-fifth birthday was enormous. Seokjin wanted the whole city to have a day of celebrations, and so had every major city in the kitchen cooking up local favourites, and in every plaza in the city there were open barrels of colour powder to be tossed about indiscriminately, and he had declared that he would buy every piece of street-art created on the day.

 

Seokjin was very much the people’s prince, not only for his charitable nature, but because he would often travel though the city and mingle with them, singing to the little ones in his sweet voice and dancing rather clumsily with them. Whenever one would spot a red heart of any size drawn in the street or on a wall, one would know that the prince had been there.

 

As such, the people were all too happy to honour their prince.

 

Even the weather itself seemed to want to celebrate the prince, for the day broke sunny and mild, wit a gentle sea-breeze wafting it’s fresh scent through the whole city.

 

Up at the palace, however, the mood was somewhat more subdued. Courtiers of all ages were all to happy to imitate his colourful fashions and to pretend at being as noble and just, but the overarching feeling seemed to be jealousy. How an omega could behave in such a way was beyond them. By now, the prince should have been married and fat with children, not dancing with street rats and turning his nose up at the finest alphas the kingdom had to offer.

 

There was, at least, a handful who were truly happy to see the prince light up the kingdom with joy. The King and General Yi were all too happy to make a round of the city with him, and the lumbering general even brought smiles to the faces of everyone present when he let a tiny little boy of five or so stand on his toes for a dance.

 

When the trio returned to the palace in time for the main feast in the great hall, it was with great smiles on their faces at seeing first-hand the prosperity of their kingdom.

 

Smiles that quickly fell the minute the feasting was concluded and the messenger was finally brought forward.

 

The beta was wearing the purple colours of the citadel, the massive academy in the middle of the four kingdoms where the warlocks lived and learned, separate yet intertwined in the political fabric that made up the Four Kingdoms. He was a novice, if his youth was anything to guess by. But Seokjin knew that could be misleading. He was also fairly brimming with nervousness and anticipation, all in such a bundle that Seokjin was tempted to reach out and calm him.

 

Seokju was quick to lead the boy to his own study, followed by his closest advisors which, to the vexation of many, included the Prince.

 

Once everyone was settled, the boy was quick to assure everyone that he brought not bad tidings, but rather a summons. The citadel was hosting a summit, not at the citadel itself, no, that would be ridiculous, but at the infamous Floating Palace in Pyeongchang. It was a tumultuous time of power-shifts within each of the four kingdoms, and for that and various other reasons that could not be disclosed, it seemed imperative that rulers from each of the four kingdoms convened in one place.

 

Seokjin could tell that his father was very tempted to laugh, and some of the other people in the room gave in to said temptation, and when he felt the nervousness from the boy increase tenth fold, mixed with a bit of hurt, he was himself tempted to squash the humour in the room. He settled for bending his own rules of not using his ability on others, just a little bit, by calming the boy down. He knew his father could tell what he was doing, but he also knew his father trusted him not to go overboard.

 

“As I’m sure you can understand, as King, I cannot simply leave for an indeterminate amount of time. And some would object to me leaving my duties in the capable hands of my son.” Seokju nodded at the prince and there was some nervous shuffling in the room. Of the few people in the room, even fewer would actually object to this. It was the wider council that would throw a fit at the mere thought.

 

The messenger was quick to shake his head. “Forgive me Your Majesty, for it would not be you who would be going, but your son, Prince Seokjin.”

 

There was a moment of absolute silence in which no one dared to even breathe.

 

Before madness could descend, Seokju stood from his seat, “Everyone but my son, out. Now.” His command was that of an alpha and a king, and everyone in the room scrambled like scolded puppies to obey. Seokjin remained in his seat, quivering despite himself.

 

His father was a riot of feelings, ranging from anger to shame and most prominently, fear.

 

Seokjin fought his own instincts in reaction to the alpha command and found his own most abundant emotion to be anger. They were by no means a traditional family, and as such his father was very aware of how much Seokjin despised it when he used that voice on him. For all that he never acted as omega should, he was still subject to the base instincts of one.

 

As soon as the room was empty and he was sure nobody was close enough to hear, he shot up out of his seat, still shaking, “Why would you do that? You know I hate that!”

 

His father slumped into his seat, his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands, “I know. I know and I’m sorry. I reacted without thinking.”

 

“Why? Why would the thought of me attending this summit garner such a strong reaction from you? Do you think I am not capable?” Seokjin rushed out, his shaking subsiding in the wake of his father’s obvious remorse.

 

“Of course not. You know I am fully aware of your capabilities. But you have never been away from me, you have never been where I cannot protect you.” He sighed, and looked up at Seokjin with pleading eyes, “And you are not the only one at the mercy of your instincts. It is in my nature as your family alpha to protect you for as long as I can, and sending you across the world to a place we know very little about does not constitute as protecting you.”

Seokjin huffed and dropped into the chair opposite his father, “How am I supposed to be mad at you when you do that.” He mirrored his father’s pose, resting his chin on his hand. “Appa…I need to go. You know do. You cannot protect me forever.” He snorted, “Perhaps I’ll even find some knot-head who I can stand for longer than ten minutes and you’ll have yourself an heir.”

 

Seokju chuckles at his son’s bluntness, “I hadn’t considered that.” His face fell, and the room was suffused in regret, “I wish I could hand over the throne to you so you could marry whomever you wish. It pains me that you might have to marry someone purely for the kingdom’s sake.”

 

Seokjin ran his finger along the grain in the wood of his father’s desk, “We’ve known this was coming for a long time. I’ve resigned myself to my fate.” He sighed dramatically for emphasis, but his father wasn’t smiling.

 

“I have not. I do not want you to go into this actively looking for an heir. Go with the intent of learning more about the other kingdoms, and perhaps you’ll be lucky and meet someone you can love along the way. It would be good if you did, because it would be someone of equal standing.” Seokju looked down at his desk, “Station is important, as much as I hate to say it. You need someone who understands your life, and even if it ends up being a marriage of convenience, equal ground makes it easier to learn to love one another if not only tolerate one another.”

 

Seokjin reached across the desk to squeeze his father’s wrist. He knew his father had married far below his station when he’d chosen Minseok, one of his grandmother’s body servants who had been from an old noble family and only there by the good graces of ancient family debts. He also knew it greatly hurt his father when it was whispered that Minseok’s less than stellarly royal blood had been the cause of the many miscarriages and stillbirths.

 

The fact was that it shouldn’t have mattered who Seokju married, for he had only been the fourth in line to the throne when he did, and the first four years of their union had been blissful, for they had felt no need to have a child yet. But then a horrible accident had claimed the lives of all three of Seokju’s older brothers and his father, with his mother following soon after due to grief.

 

It had been the worst year of Seokju’s life, but the brunt of it had landed squarely on Minseok, who had been totally unequipped to deal with his sudden shift in status. Seokju was almost certain that it had been that stress that had really made Minseok unable to carry. He looked at Seokju, squeezing the hand on his wrist in turn. His spouse might not have agreed with him, but he really believed that Seokjin was their little miracle. He could never look at his son and feel disappointment. All he felt was joy, love and the need to protect him at all costs. He sighed heavily. Perhaps that meant letting him go to this ridiculous summit. He snorted and his son looked at him questioningly.

 

“Fine. You may go. But you are taking General Yi with you. And your omega guards.”Gods know they’d had ample training by then.

 

The risk might have been worth it to see his son light up like a firefly and lunge across the desk to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you! I’ll start preparations immediately. General Yi you say? He’ll be sure to grouch about it all the way to the Floating Palace, but I’m sure he’ll secretly enjoy the adventure! And my omegas would not be able to contain their excitement! You know Sunmin has been obsessed with the Northerners for ages! And…”

 

And so it went on for the full month it took to fully prepare, and by the time the King was seeing his son onto his horse, he was quite looking forward to some peace and quiet. He still had some time to fret and worry, however.

 

“Promise not to be stubborn and move to the carriage when you start to get saddle-sore. Wear your hat so you don’t burn, remember the ointments so the pests don’t eat you alive and for the love of the gods, don’t eat or touch anything you find unless it has been approved by the hunters, yes?”

 

Seokjin had smiled fondly at the start of his father’s tirade, but was now looking at him with a flat expression that conveyed exactly how unimpressed he was. “Yes, eomma, I will be sure to remember that I have been on this earth a good twenty-five years and not forget to tell my nannies when I need to take a piss either.”

 

General Yi, who was standing nearby, had to be assisted onto his horse he was laughing so hard, and Seokju huffed and smacked his son upside the head before embracing him one final time for a full two minutes.

 

“Be careful, my Jinnie. I could not bear to lose you too.”

 

Seokjin inhaled his father’s calming scent and hugged him back just as hard, “I will, Appa. You’ll see me again before you know it.”

 

Seokju had to use every last bit of his considerable will-power not to cry like a babe in front of the entire travelling party, tellingly free of courtiers so this moment of farewell could be as private as possible. He helped his son onto his horse even if he didn’t need it, and then stood there until the tail of the travelling party was long out of sight.

 

He sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day, and went back to his duties inside the palace, as his son proceeded on to his far, far away.

  



	2. King Jeongguk, Alpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes, and Jeongguk receives an invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone.
> 
> If you're new, ignore this ad read on.
> 
> If not, sorry.
> 
> So like, I noticed some things I didn't like when I posted this chapter, so instead of posting a new chapter, I'm posting a new version of this one where mistakes are corrected and there is some new stuff in it from about the third section on. Like, 2000 words extra so I hope ya'll won't be too mad at me.

Someone was screaming.

 

It woke Jeongguk up. He glared with half-closed eyes into the darkness of his room and heard his valet, Seungwa shuffling in from his own room with a lit candle. It made his terrified face glow eerily.

 

Were they under attack? Still in his torpid state, the prince stumbled blearily out of his bed and picked up his sword where it was laying on his dressing table, signalling to Seungwa with a finger to his lips to be quiet. He went to his door and pressed his ear against the slit between the two massive wooden slabs. The screaming seemed to be only one person, too hysterical and far away for him to recognise who exactly it was. It seemed to be coming from his parent’s quarters. That woke his still lethargic mind right out of it’s stupor.

 

He wrenched open his door and stormed right into someone. It was a miracle nobody was impaled on the sword he was brandishing about, for it was only Namjoon, who was a walking disaster even without any weapons involved.

 

The older alpha steadied him with a firm grip on his upper arms, his tone commanding, “Go back into your room and wait for me to come back, Jeongguk.”

 

There was no room to argue. Though Jeongguk was the crown prince and Namjoon was about two spaces down the line of succession from him; because Jeongguk had not experienced his first rut yet, he outranked him as an older alpha.

 

Jeongguk grit his teeth and dutifully marched back into his room, shutting the door. He and Seungwa stared at each other for a moment before settling onto the chest by the foot of his bed to wait. Jeongguk was fairly thrumming with tension. Something was happening to his parents, or at least in their room, and he had no idea what it was and was now seemingly banned from finding out. He grumbled to himself. Once again he had been relegated to the status of a mere child, as always.

 

They sat there for what felt like hours. Seungwa eventually got up to tidy what little mess there was in the room and readied Jeongguk's clothing for the next day. The prince was on the verge of snapping at the servant to cease his useless fretting and to just go back to sleep when the door was opened and he jumped to his feet, sword aloft once again.

 

And once again, it was a miracle that Namjoon was not impaled where he stood. The look on his face, however, was what had Jeongguk dropping his sword and trying to rush past him, to where the screaming had come from and where he knew, he knew-

 

Namjoon grabbed him, wrapping his arms tightly around him, both as a restraint and as an embrace. Normally the very thought that someone would be able to restrain him was laughable, but in this instance Jeongguk felt as weak as a newborn. His knees gave out and his mentor half-dragged, half-carried him to the chest, near which Seungwa was completely frozen in place.

 

Namjoon dismissed the valet with a nod to the door. They didn’t need any witnesses to the tears pooling in Jeongguk’s eyes.

 

“W-who is it? Who’s de-” the prince cut himself off with a sob. He was starting to shake.

 

Namjoon knew there was no use in trying to deny the inevitable. “It's your abeoji. Your eomoni is…distraught. The healers and the warlocks are with them.”

 

“C-can I go see…”

 

Namjoon adamantly shook his head. He didn’t want Jeongguk to see what he’d seen. The King, staring vacantly up at the ceiling. Rut fever, the healer had guessed. Namjoon had doubted it, given that it had only been the first day of the King’s rut, and the Queen had been right there next to the body, naked and screaming hysterically like nothing he’d ever heard before.

 

“The healers will summon us when they are ready.”

 

Jeongguk gave in to sobbing, whimpering “I want my eomma,” into Namjoon’s collar.

 

Namjoon held onto his weeping dongsaeng and felt his own heart burn with grief. Jeonghoon had been his jageun abeoji, mentor and king, and it was highly unlikely that Queen Hyunsoo would survive the month.

 

Nothing would be the same.

 

———

 

When the healers finally came, Jeongguk’s room had been flooded with pale morning light. They had moved from the chest to the couch by the window when sitting in one fashion had become unbearable.

 

Jeongguk looked more exhausted than he ever had before. He had yet to go half and hour without breaking into sobs again, and Namjoon had stopped trying to resist his own tears at some point in the night. They must have looked quite the mess, still in their nightclothes and red-eyed. He felt disgust at himself. How could he complain about petty discomfort when his appa was _dead_? Shouldn't the pain in his heart override everything and anything else?

 

The sight of his dead abeoji on a slab in the healer’s wing, with his heavily sedated eomoni hanging onto one of his cold, stiff hands like he could will life back into it had Jeongguk backing out of the room so fast he ended up propelling Namjoon out right along with him. Even out in the hall where he was dry-heaving, the scent of the perfume water used to wash his appa’s corpse stuck in his nostrils like he was drowning in it. It was clear from his father being dressed in a silk death dress but as of yet unwrapped with the traditional cotton, that his eomma was preventing the rest of the rites from being carried out. Hyunsoo was by no means using force to prevent the healers from carrying out their duties. It was just that no one would dare touch the Queen, especially not in his state, dressed in naught but one of Jeonghoon’s robes that a healer had kindly draped over his shoulders and the scent of his dead alpha’s rut still clinging to him.

 

Jeongguk’s mind seemed to move on without him, already preparing a mental list of what needed to be done. He needed to get his eomma out of that room. He needed to speak with his jageun abeoji to be sure that he was overseeing the funereal rights to the specifics his appa had laid out only a year prior. He needed to face the people.

 

He straightened out from where he had been bent over with his hands on his knees. He steeled himself and nodded at Namjoon, who had been standing by his side and staring at the wall opposite them.

 

“I'm ready now.”

 

Namjoon sighed and they walked back into that horrible room. Jeongguk tried not to look at his appa’s body, he really did, but his eyes seemed to gravitate there of their own accord.

 

His appa in death seemed to be a horrid imitation of what he had been in life. He’d always been a very animated man, always smiling or frowning severely, and even when he was slack-jawed in concentration there seemed to be so much vitality captured in his eyes alone.

 

Now he was so still and pale, it frightened Jeongguk so much he almost felt his resolve breaking. He forcibly shifted his gaze to his poor eomma. Wide, glimmering eyes so like his own, now dull in either grief or a drugged fugue. He stepped up behind his eomma and laid gentle hands on his shoulders. “Eomma, it’s time to go.”

 

Hyunsoo just whimpered pathetically in response, his voice sounded rough and painful. Jeongguk turned his grip into an embrace, his chin tucked into his eomma’s neck. Hyunsoo's scent seemed to calm fractionally, and the prince took this as his cue to slowly but surely guide him from the room, Namjoon following at their heels.

 

As soon as they were clear of the horrid perfume-stench suffusing the healer’s wing, his eomma went completely limp. Quicker than the eye could see, Jeongguk scooped him up and carried him the rest of the way to the Queen’s Quarters. Namjoon hovered at the door of this sacred space as Jeongguk went in. Hyunsoo’s body-servants were all assembled in a sort of nervous formation about the room. Yujin, a stern caregiver and his eomma’s oldest friend stepped forward immediately to relieve the prince of his burden. Jeongguk was almost surprised at the effortless way the omega lifted his eomma from his arms, but he remembered watching in amazement how the omegas in his eomma’s service hefted the heavy vats of water to fill the bath when he was still small enough to bathe with his eomma. He watched as Hyunsoo was laid on a divan, as there was no bed in the room. The Queen was unusual for a royal spouse in that he never slept here, after all.

 

Hyunsoo started to whimper weakly again, and Jeongguk left the room quickly. He was just afraid that if he stayed, he would be trapped in his own grief, and he could not afford to do that right then.

 

Jeongguk joined Namjoon in the hall. He looked at his cousin’s bedraggled state and realised he didn’t look much better himself, still in his night robe with tears dried on his cheeks.

 

“We'll get dressed and meet in your abeoji’s reception room?” he asked.

 

Namjoon nodded and they parted ways.

 

 

———

 

The funeral was beautiful. Jeongguk was chosen to be the singer that lead the procession to the royal catacombs that had housed the dead of the Jeon Dynasty for centuries. His voice hitched around the knot in his throat, but he still received many admiring looks from the people they passed, lined along the main street of the city. The prince was known to have a beautiful voice. He tried to ignore the pity in their eyes and focus on that instead.

 

The catacombs were located at the opposite side of the city from the palace, and was also where the temple was. The procession was long and laborious, and Jeongguk wished he could extend his power to the people around him so they could act out the whole process one hundred times faster, but it was for the benefit of tradition, and for the people. Though the Royal family had been non-secular for three generations at least, the general populace were still devout to their faith, and as such were entitled to this -to Jeongguk at least- useless ceremony.

 

The people were mournful. Jeonghoon had been a good king, and during his relatively short reign, the kingdom had prospered.

 

His eomma walked next to the coffin, a dazed look on his face from the numerous calming herbs the healers had put in his tea, and one hand resting on the coffin, never leaving the gilded surface. he received odd looks for not outright weeping, as an omega should, when Jeongguk himself knew he could not let his tears fall even though he dearly wanted to, for it would be unseemly for an alpha. He hated it. He knew that his appa, who had been an honest man as much as his position allowed, had hated the custom. He’d been very vocal about what he called, “old-fashioned, stagnating ridiculousness” dictating the ways that the castes were expected to behave.

 

His appa’s tomb had barely been sealed, with his eomma finally releasing a mournful wail that startled all the carefully selected courtiers attending, when his jageun abeoji announced that there was to be a meeting with the council.

 

Jeongguk glanced at his eomma, ready to step in and support him, but Hyunsoo's various attendants had already swarmed and were loading him into the carriage to take back to the palace. Jeongguk tried to swallow around the knot in his throat, and when he still did not succeed, mounted the horse held ready for him by a servant and followed the Queen’s carriage up to the palace. His sobs were clearly audible to the Prince and most of the people surrounding the carriage. Jeongguk waged a war within itself to hold back his own tears once again.

 

Once he was certain his eomma had been safely installed in the new bed in his quarters, Jeongguk made his way to the council chambers and tried to stem the tide of complete helplessness trying to overwhelm him.

 

 

He stepped into the chamber and found everyone already seated and apparently waiting for him, if the impatient look his jageun abeoji sent him was any indicator. He swallowed around the lump once again and almost went for his usual chair when he stopped himself and remembered. He was supposed to sit at the head now. The ache in his chest flared as he lowered himself into his new chair, the one with the very high, very ornate back, inlaid with a pattern of gold.

 

He clenched his jaw to hold the fire raging in his chest in and nodded at the speaker, who had the sealed scroll laid out ominously in front of him, “Proceed.”

 

Before the speaker could even so much as reach for the scroll, he was interrupted by a loud throat-clearing from the other end of the table, where the Head Warlock, Jiyong sat in all his gloomy mysteriousness.

 

“There is of course the manner of the king’s death to discuss first.”

 

It was as if all the air in the room was sucked out through an open window, or perhaps it only felt that way for Jeongguk, who suddenly found he could not breathe. He had known, when on the second day after his appa’s death, Namjoon had conceded and told him it had been rut-fever to claim his appa's life, that something about that explanation had not made sense. How could his appa have died of rut fever when his eomma had been right there?

 

And he was certain everyone else in the room had thought of that too, which cast an air of suspicion on the King’s death, something that only one of them, perhaps, was prepared to deal with.

 

Councilman Kumsong spoke up, “I was under the impression that the King had passed of rut fever? Is there something we have not been told?” His face suggested that leaving him uninformed would have dire consequences for whoever was at fault.

 

Jiyong merely had to flip back his purple hood to stem the tide of queries rising like a noxious odour in the room, revealing his shock of white hair and glowing orange eyes, “You were not informed because you did not need to be. I have only disclosed it now, because the King made provision for these circumstances. Should the traitor be among those present today, there is a protocol to follow.”

 

A cacophony rose up among the members of the council, every single one indignant at this seemingly offensive statement.

 

Jeongguk sucked in a breath and felt dizziness creeping up on him. His father had expected this? Was the person who had killed him in this very room?

 

His jageun abeoji spoke up, his deep, booming voice almost rattling the windowpanes “ _Silence_! There is nothing to be gained form squabbling like children. Let the King’s will be known, and then we can proceed.”He paused, his fury rose in the room like a colossus and had the councillors cowering like frightened dogs. “Be certain, that the treasonous bastard who murdered my brother and King will meet an appropriate end.”

 

The Speaker reached for the scroll again with shaking hands. Carefully, he broke the seal that held the Jeon insignia, a prancing rabbit. He cleared his throat, but when he spoke his voice still shook nonetheless.

 

The regency went to his jageun abeoji, as everyone had expected, but what nobody had expected was for his abeoji to appoint Namjoon as regent right along with him. Namgi was clearly surprised, but seemed to accept it well enough. Namjoon himself hid his surprise well behind his usual calm and confident poise, though Jeongguk could still see it in the way he seemed to sit up _too_ straight, and his face was a bit _too_ casual.

 

The Prince Regent turned to Jeongguk, “My boy, it pains me to say this when you are still so very young, but you are a King now. Do not think that as regents, my son and I will rule without you, and I dare say we will not be regents for long. Your full ascension occurs either with your coming of age or your first rut, and both will occur in the next two years.” He turned back to the room at large, “Now, we will discuss the Coronation,” all the tenderness fell from his face, “and then the investigation.”

 

Whilst normally Jeongguk wouldn't be crowned so soon, the council deemed it a necessity in order to show the people there would be no chink in the armour that made up the line of succession. He was old enough that it wasn't too much of a breach of protocol, and he would have agreed if anyone had bothered to ask him. He took some comfort in the knowledge that Namjoon would be there with him, every step of the way.

 

Jeongguk tried to pay attention, he did, but he found his thoughts roaming with his gaze across the faces of the councillors. One of these alphas had killed his abeoji, and he would be damned if he let any important detail in their countenance pass him by. He knew he could ask Namjoon for the details he’d missed in the discussion of his coronation after the meeting convened.

 

He knew the discussion regarding the investigation started when he felt the tension in the room increase once again. He tuned back into what was being said, but kept a sharp eye. Lord Kumsong seemed reluctant to look at the head of the table where Jeongguk, Namgi and Namjoon were seated and his hands were rather conspicuously out of sight.

 

He also noticed someone else apparently observing the room at large. Seunghyun, Namgi’s shadow and captain of the Royal Guard. He was standing against the wall, off to the side, and though he wasn’t anywhere near the table, he seemed to loom over it regardless. His head remained completely still as if he was simply staring straight ahead, but Jeongguk saw his eyes roving over everyone present in the room.

 

Before, the alpha had been his appa's guard, and they had been good friends. At first, Jeongguk had been resentful when Namjoon had told him that Seunghyun hadn't been there when his father had passed, but Namjoon had also assured him that he himself had witnessed Jeonghoon dismiss the alpha for the duration of his rut, claiming his usual door guards would surely be sufficient. Since the incident, Jeongguk had only seen him with his jageun abeoji, and had also noted the absence of the guard's usual smile and somewhat playful demeanour. Besides, the warlocks and healers had concluded that it was poison that had killed the King, and were close to finding out exactly which poison it was. Seunghyun would not have been able to save his father even if he'd been there.

 

It was decided the investigation would only be undertaken by the Warlocks and the Prince Regents, to prevent any meddling. This caused another bout of loud indignation, which was promptly silenced when Namgi rose out of his chair and growled.

 

As the councillors were dispersing, Namjoon approached Jeongguk where he was standing in front of the wide windows overlooking the sea. He still seemed a bit shocked at his sudden elevation in status now that he could show it, and he stood there silently for several minutes. “I had no idea your appa thought so highly of me. Do you think perhaps he did it only because you and I are close and it would make your transition to King easier?”

 

Jeongguk almost snorted, “Don't be ridiculous. Appa adored you, and you have proved your competence more than once. You’re not much older than me and you’re already one of the wisest alphas in the kingdom. Haven’t you noticed that your duties have been steadily increasing ever since you came of age?” He was desperate to reassure his hyung, he'd always felt great unease when those he looked up to struggled. He looked to Namgi, who was standing at the other end of the room having a discussion with Jiyong, Seunghyun two steps behind and slightly to his left as had become the new norm, “Your appa might not show it, but I know he is proud of you. He knows my appa would not have appointed you without a very good reason.”

 

As Jeongguk was observing Namgi and the Warlock, they suddenly turned to where he and Namjoon were standing and walked over to them. Jeongguk straightened and looked at his jageun abeoji questioningly.

 

Namgi seemed to have a sense of urgency about him, “The Warlock has informed me that there is a messenger from the Citadel waiting to see us in my reception chambers.”

 

The scholar in Namjoon perked up before the new Lord Regent did, “The Citadel? But they never send messengers unless it is to the Head Warlock directly.”

 

Jiyong seemed to give off an air of being unbothered, but Jeongguk knew him well enough to know it rankled. “The guards saw his colours and wanted to show him to my study, but he insisted that he needed to see the King and his regents. They summoned my second and he informed me.”

 

Jeongguk straightened his shoulders once again and nodded. “Well then. Let's go.”

 

 

The messenger looked younger than Jeongguk, and when the four alphas plus the Head Warlock filed into the room, he gulped heavily and breathed through his mouth. Must have been an omega then, if the sheer wall of alpha-scent ruffled his feathers so thoroughly.

 

The Head Warlock’s voice was gentle when he gestured to the chair by the window, where a gentle sea-breeze was wafting in fresh air, “Why don’t you sit down, little one, and give us the message that you have come to deliver.”

 

The boy seemed to be somewhat bolstered as he sat down and everyone else took their own places throughout the room. Namgi leaned against the large bookshelf behind his desk, Seunghyun by the door, Namjoon in on of the guest chairs by his appa's desk, whilst Jiyong and Jeongguk remained standing in front of the messenger, albeit as far from the omega as was prudent to lessen his discomfort.

“Your Majesties, my Lord, the Citadel extends an invitation to the young King Jeongguk and Prince Regent Namjoon, to attend a summit at the Floating Palace at Pyeongchang, where the other three ascending rulers will also be convening.”

 

Everyone but the boy frowned and he wilted.

 

Namgi was the first to speak, “When are they to leave? And why?”

 

“Well, there is no exact time given, but you are to leave as soon as possible. The Citadel deemed it prudent for the young rulers to connect, as there is a bout of power shifts all throughout the Four Kingdoms, and it would only benefit everyone involved if there was a cohesive…uh…rulership?”

 

Namjoon arched a brow, “Are we not cohesive now?”

 

The messenger swallowed heavily, “The Citadel seems to think there is room for improvement. Especially given that the Northern Kingdoms have ceased all communication.”

 

Namgi huffed, “Why must we attend this summit if it is the Northerners that have closed themselves off? Why must we go there, and they not come here?”

 

The omega boy started to quiver in his seat. Jeongguk decided to save him before he combusted. “If there is nothing else, you can leave and we will discuss this amongst ourselves.” He looked at Jiyong, “Do you have accommodation for him?”

 

The Head Warlock nodded, “My second is waiting outside to take him there.”

 

Jeongguk sat in the chair the boy had vacated, “Can I even afford to leave when I haven’t even had my coronation?”

 

Namgi sank into his own chair behind the massive desk with a heavy sigh, “While normally I would say no, we all know the Citadel is not to be ignored.” He snorted, “They do everything for a reason, and always neglect to share that reason with the rest of us.”

 

Jiyong sprawled in the chair next to Jeongguk, “Those uppity pricks think it beneath them to share their great and awesome plans with those supposedly lesser than them.”

 

Namjoon’s jaw dropped. Though he had been training as a telekinetic under Jiyong since he had turned sixteen, it seemed he would never get used to the warlock’s fond use of foul language.

 

Jeongguk, who himself did not have the purest of tongues and who had been training under the warlock for much longer, was completely unfazed. This was actually tame in comparison to the usual. He knew Jiyong was probably trying to censor himself for the sake of Namgi, who he had for some reason, always been more reserved around.

 

“So we have to go.” Namjoon said, partially recovered from his shock.

 

His appa sighed heavily, “It appears so.”

 

———

 

With the news of the summons being announced, the council had to convene again the very next day. The councilmen all seemed haughty and not-so-secretly delighted at the news, as if Jeongguk having to leave somehow proved something about his or his regents’ competency as rulers.

 

“And what of the coronation? Is the new King to leave without even his crown?” Councilman Kumsong intoned, a false air of concern tugging his snake-like lips into a smile disguised as a grimace.

 

Another councilman looked to be readying himself to speak, but Namgi beat him to it, “My proposal to this council is that the coronation be postponed until the King returns from his excursion. After all, there was some uncertainty on whether he should be coronated before he was of age or maturity. If anything, this summit offers him an opportunity to learn the art of diplomacy, and to learn from peers.” His sigh managed to convey all the disapproval in the world, “We have never been in the habit of putting the burden of a crown on the head of a child. This is why Jeonghoon appointed regents in the first place. We were willing to crown Jeongguk early because he’s so close to being of age, with the idea that the regents would merely phase him into ruling by himself, but now I see we were hasty in that decision.” 

 

Jeongguk wanted to object to being called a child, but of late, he'd been thinking that he would have clung to his childhood a little longer if he'd been given the choice. It kept him awake at night, how foolish he’d been to wish his childhood to end, and for it to come true in such a horrible way.

 

There was some grumbling, but it subsided well enough when the Head Warlock nonchalantly started manipulating the flames from the various candles stationed throughout the room into various shapes and sizes. The way he was slouched in his chair, legs over the armrest and staring at the ceiling conveyed his infinite boredom with the situation.

 

Soon enough, the decision was put to a vote, and though most of the council members went to great lengths to express their reluctance, in the end reason won out.

 

The Kingdom of Gunsan was quite far from Pyeongchang, so they would travel light and with a very small entourage to get to their destination as soon as possible.

 

Jeongguk would set out within the month, and in this time he found himself relieved of his usual princely duties and told simply to “prepare for the journey ahead”. He found this to be very vexing, as all the preparations were performed by servants, and as such he had very little clue what this instruction meant. It gave him too much time to himself, too much time to be consumed by his grief. Worst of all, he was assigned a familiar bodyguard.

 

“When I said ‘prepare yourself’, I didn’t mean ‘annoy me enough to consider setting you on fire’.” Jiyong whined from where he lay. His voice was muffled because his face was firmly planted on the floor of the training room. "Just ignore him. Pretend he isn't there. He's used to it, I promise you."

 

Jeongguk stopped zig-zagging across the room at the speed of light, but only for long enough to send a nervous glance at Seunghyun in the corner.

 

The power of Velocity, Jiyong’s predecessor had called it. He had been a mere three years old when his eomma had screeched loud enough to lure his appa from his office across the royal quarters, only to see his son as little more than a tiny blur across the floor of the nursery.

 

Of course, Hyunsoo had known when he married a Jeon that it was likely his children would be born with abilities, given that Jeonghoon himself had the power of Control over Density and his half-brother that of Farsight. But that had certainly not prepared him for the experience of his son scrambling down from his lap to show him a toy and to do so faster than he could fully comprehend.

 

As soon as Jeongguk had started his tutoring, he’d also started his training with the Head Warlock, and eventually his apprentice and Successor, Jiyong.

 

Warlocks were the ideal teachers when it came to these abilities, as they not only had their own abilities, but were special in that they could absorb the ability of anyone they touched for a short time. It taxed them a little more than it did whoever they absorbed it from, as evidenced by how much Jiyong liked to complain during and after his sessions with Jeongguk.

 

“Why do you fucking Jeons always have to present with these extremely physical abilities? Why can’t you just…read minds or learn languages instantly like the royals in Busan? I wasn’t made to run around like this. And my gods-be-damned skull was definitely not made to withstand whatever your twat of a cousin happens to be practising on!” 

 

Jeongguk crouched by the warlock’s head, close enough that it looked like Jiyong only had one eye, “Maybe you should stop having him practise on heavy and pointy things, then?”

 

The warlock huffed and Jeongguk backed away before the ultra-heated air could singe his eyes or hair. “The whole point is that he needs to practise on heavy things to build up strength, and small pointy things to build up dexterity.”

 

The Prince snorted, “Namjoon-hyung and dexterity don’t belong in the same sentence. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t managed to knock down the library with how much time he spends in there.”

 

Jiyong giggled in that breathless way of his, “You know he once managed to break the door to my study clean off its hinges?”

 

Jeongguk arched a brow, impressed, “He’s gotten really strong then. Are you sure you still need to be doing the strength exercises?”

 

Jiyong propped himself up on an elbow and grinned, looking rather maniacal, “He wasn’t using his ability.”

 

Jeongguk reeled and nearly tripped over his own feet, “What?”

 

“He just opened it, and suddenly there was a door taller and thicker than me on my carpet. I was lucky not to be flattened.” 

 

Jeongguk shook his head and sunk down onto the floor next to the warlock, suddenly feeling a little faint and hot.

 

Jiyong sat up slowly and frowned at him.

 

He frowned right back, “What?”

 

“You're sweating. You never sweat.” Jiyong’s face did not change.

 

“Of course I do. Everyone sweats. Even you sweat, and you’re a fire mage. And I did just sprint across the room a hundred times.”

 

“That wasn’t enough to get you winded, let alone break out in sweat.” Jiyong leaned in suddenly and practically buried his face in Jeongguk’s neck, giving a loud sniff.

 

If circumstances had been different, Jeongguk was sure he would have Jiyong back on the floor rolling with laughter at how he squealed and shuffled back on his bottom at top speed in reaction to the completely unexpected violation of personal space. But given what Jiyong’s next words were, he quickly forgot all about it.

 

“You're going into rut.”

 

There was a moment in which all they could do was stare at each other with blank faces, a moment that quickly dissolved into chaos.

 

“I'll summon Namjoon.” Jiyong was using his Head Warlock voice as he sprang to his feet, suddenly full of energy, “You get to your quarters as soon as possible.”

 

Soon, for Jeongguk, was under two minutes, which was how long it took him to get all the way to the other side of the palace, something that would have taken anyone else between fifteen or twenty at a brisk walk. 

 

As he entered the familiarity of his own room, he wanted to feel guilty for leaving his guard behind, but he began to notice what he had somehow been ignoring before and became quite distracted. He could feel himself heating up, could feel it under his arms and in his cheeks. And he felt…something else too.

 

As a young alpha of nineteen years, Jeongguk was quite familiar with the concept of arousal, but he’d never experienced something like this before. It seemed urgent, painful, and it was not localised to just his groin area as it usually was. He could feel it everywhere, from his chest to his thighs and even his feet. His head was throbbing and his eyes clouding and tearing up from the sheer heat of it all.

 

He sunk onto the cool marble floor near the window, resting his cheek on it. It helped a little, and his mind cleared somewhat, enough to understand the implications of what this meant.

 

He was officially eligible to be crowned. As soon as people found out it would be expected.

 

Fear clutched at his heart. He was not ready. He couldn’t do this. His appa wasn’t even cold in his grave. They were supposed to have had time. He was supposed to have seen his appa with grey hair, teaching him how to rule a kingdom.

 

His family had been taken from him in the cruelest way possible, and he didn’t want to die too. What if the cup of juice he’d had that morning had been laced with the same poison that had killed his appa? What if his own death was creeping up on him?

 

His mind roiled with heat, loss and primal fear.

 

He was on the floor in his room and he was all alone. 

He was going to die alone.

 

———

 

The boy was delirious, and though it was expected and perfectly normal for a first rut, Namgi’s heart gave a pang.

 

Jeongguk was on the floor, writhing and insensible, and Namjoon was frantically repurposing every last bit of ice from the kitchen’s ice room to fill the tub in the ensuite bathing room. Seungwa, the Prince’s valet, was just as frantic, repeatedly wiping him down with a cool cloth.

 

When the Warlock had first burst into his study whilst he and Namjoon were discussing the investigation, Seunghyun hot on his heels, Namgi had completely frozen in place for a full twenty seconds as Jiyong relayed what had happened in panted words to his son. He’d never seen him so disheveled, so panicked. For as long as Namgi had known him, the Warlock had never been anything less than perfectly put together. It shook him in a way that the cause of everyone’s panic didn’t.

 

Now the Warlock was absent, and Namgi found himself able to focus on the task at hand, “Namjoon.”

 

His son looked at him, a question in his eyes. The bathtub was finally as full as they could get it with ice, and he’d taken off his outer robes and rolled up his shirt sleeves in preparation for picking up the Prince to drop him into into it. He'd absently refused Seunghyun's help, and the guard had subsided and positioned himself in his customary spot by the door against the wall. Namgi cleared his throat and the question on Namjoon’s face turned into a vehement answer, “No. He wouldn’t want it.”

 

Namgi pursed his lips, “He could die without one.”

 

“Could. I’m willing to risk it for as long as I can in order to respect his wishes.” He stepped closer to Namgi in order to whisper, “Would you want some random whore to witness his death should there be poison at work? You know as well as I do who the best spies are in this Kingdom.”

 

There followed a moment in which they simply stared at one another, which ended when Namgi finally relented with a heavy sigh and a nod, and Jeongguk emitted a weak little cry on the other side of the room.

 

Namjoon rushed to his side to lift him, and Namgi fled the scene.

 

Picking up Jeongguk was like picking up a man-sized hot coal. It wasn’t unusual for him to have an elevated body temperature on account of his ability, but it had never been like this. For a brief moment, Namjoon paused in the doorway to the bathing room and considered his father’s offer for the first time. The boy was rigid in his hold, unconscious but not relaxed. An omega companion could be the only way Jeongguk survived this.

 

He shook himself, and stepped over the threshold. Seungwa was knelt by the bathtub, ready to attend to his Prince and make sure he neither drowned nor succumbed to the fever.

 

When Namjoon lowered Jeongguk into the freezing water, he’d expected him to jolt and perhaps gain his senses, or to cry out at the sudden shift in temperature. Neither of those things happened. Instead, he moaned long and drawn-out, relaxed his entire body at once and seemed to fall asleep immediately. As such, he looked to be at peace for the first time in the past hour of agony.

 

Namjoon dropped onto the floor next to the tub and breathed. Across from him, Seungwa had a furious blush on his cheeks and was staring intently at the floor. For now at least, it looked as if all would end well.

 

———

 

Namgi felt almost lost without Seunghyun, who had been replaced by some beta he recognised but did know the name of. It was odd to him that it had only taken about a fortnight to get used to him to the point that his absence was unsettling. The new guard came highly recommended by Seunghyun, however, so he wasn't too worried.

 

He entered the Queen’s quarters after bestowing upon his guard strict instructions not to enter unless there was screaming and blood leaking out from under the door, and felt abruptly as if he had walked into a tomb.

 

The curtains were all drawn, it was almost completely silent, save for the sounds of rustling fabrics, needlework being done and quiet sniffling. Hyunsoo’s servants were scattered about the room, all doing menial tasks and obviously mourning a Queen that wasn’t even dead yet. On the brand new bed against the opposite wall was a lump under a mountain of blankets, which perplexed Namgi, as he himself was sweating through his garb.

 

Nobody intercepted him as he approached the bed, and he couldn’t help but think it was because they had all deemed the situation hopeless.

 

He was hesitant to touch the Queen, but after several attempts at rousing him by saying his name, strangely ignored by everyone in the room, he was left with no choice. He pulled the blanket away from where he guessed his face was, and nearly expired on the spot.

 

Hyunsoo looked dead. He was as pale as the sheet he was lying on and his lips were blue.

 

Namgi was on the verge of possibly vomiting a lung when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

He turned to the large, dark eyes of Yujin, “He breathes, but I don’t know how much longer he has.”

 

Namgi looked again and saw that yes, the Queen was indeed still breathing, as well as shivering. Some part of his mind registered the irony of the Queen apparently freezing to death in this room, whilst down the hall his son was toiling in unimaginable heat.

 

The Lord Regent had no response but to blurt out what he came here to tell the Queen, “The Prince has gone into rut.”

 

Yujin frowned, “Has he a companion?”

 

“No. He has refused one.”

 

Yujin nodded to himself, as if he had expected this, “We shall all hope he survives.”

 

On the bed, the Queen gave no response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Jimin!
> 
> Also,
> 
> jageun abeoji - korean for a paternal uncle.


	3. Prince Jimin, Omega.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin tried his best to survive a life of royal drama atop a mountain, and then he receives a summons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like this has smut. If you don't wanna read, you can stop reading after Yoongi's speech to Jimin have having to do things just because he's his guard, and you can also prepare yourself for having to do this a lot, because now that I've posted my first smut scene, there will be no holding back.
> 
> Not beta-read because exams are coming up and whilst I may be comfortable with shirking my studying duties, my beta is not so yeah. Mistakes are my own.
> 
> Gomobu - maternal uncle
> 
> (also I became aware that I have been misspelling eomeoni all this time but by god am I too lazy to go back and correct it all)

The Great Frozen Lake of Icheon was a wonder no matter the time of year. Foreigners had seen it and been awed at its completely still surface despite the temperate heat of summer at the foot of the North-Eastern Mountain.

 

Jimin was not so much awed, for the Palace perched precariously on the Mountain hundreds of feet above the lake was his home.

 

Just as the lake at its foot, the Palace never changed regardless of season. It was always surrounded by a thick white cloud, and it was perpetually enclosed in the embrace of winter.

 

He stared up at that distant peak and burrowed further into his furs. Though he did not feel cold the way most people did, he did not enjoy the sensation in any case. The stomach his head was resting on jumped with a grunt and the fingers running through his hair tugged sharply at the silver strands.

 

“I'm not actually a pillow, you know. I have guts you can squish out.” Yoongi intoned.

 

Jimin giggled quietly, “Your guts are far too stubborn to squish out. It’s more my pretty head you should be worried about.”

 

There was a snort from above him, “I spend enough time doing that. This is my time off. You’re not even supposed to be here, but my gracious self allowed it because if I didn’t your pout would have your halmeoni freeze my knot off.”

 

Jimin rolled over and deliberately dug his chin into Yoongi’s soft belly and grinned at the plaintive wail it elicited, “He wouldn’t. He knows how useful I find that particular part of you.”

 

Yoongi pushed his head off his stomach and rubbed at the sore spot, all the while cringing, “Please don’t talk about your halmeoni and us fucking in the same sentence. “

 

Jimin spluttered and dug his fingers roughly into where his chin had been, “You did it first!”

 

Yoongi smacked ineffectually at that stubby little hand, “Your halmeoni freezing off my knot does not at all allude to sex!”He grinned suddenly, "Unless of course there is some sort of perversion you haven’t told me about, eh? It would be just like you too.” He rolled over and on top of Jimin, sweet tone belying his devilish words, “Do you wanna freeze my knot, Minnie? Wanna suck on it or ride it till it melts again, huh?”

 

Jimin pulled the ugliest face he could manage and sat up so fast he head-butted Yoongi by accident, “Don't be ridiculous! I don’t need to freeze your cock to enjoy riding it, you _swine_.”

 

Yoongi, rubbing his new sore spot, chuckled regardless of the abuse he’d sustained in the past few moments, “Oh I am well enough aware of that, Little Prince.”

 

Jimin huffed, stood up, and dusted himself off, “Well, since apparently I’m only here to bother you, I’m sure you won’t mind if I go off by myself to practise?”

 

Yoongi shrugged and flattened his mouth into a perfectly straight line.

 

Jimin couldn’t help the giggle the bubbled out of him, he never could when Yoongi pulled that face. He turned around and walked through the thicket and just out of sight to where the shore of the lake was. He really did need to practise and he knew Yoongi wouldn’t mind.

 

He stopped at the frozen shore, the toes of his soft deerskin boots skimming the ice, and took a deep breath to centre himself.

 

The world around him started to hum, and he became aware of the lake before him in a way that encompassed the whole thing. He could feel the minute vibration of every molecule, every tiny bubble of air trapped within the ice. He pulled on this awareness, and soundlessly, the ice before him warped into new shapes, each more intricate than the last, until eventually he had a neat row of ice figures in front of him, ranging in detail and technique until the last figure in the line was near perfect, each strand of fine hair and furs discernible, every stitch in its leather armour clearly defined, delicate lips a perfect cupid’s bow. He opened his eyes and stared at this icy imitation of Yoongi.

 

He frowned.

 

There was always something wrong. No matter how much he practised, he always made mistakes. The eyes were too droopy or the ears too big, the hair a solid block of ice or the nose too flat or the shoulders too narrow. He clenched his jaw and flattened the whole line of statues until the lake surface was perfect and placid once again.

 

He clenched his jaw and breathed slowly again, working harder this time to centre himself.

 

He had just attained that state of awareness again when the sudden movement of the ice before him snapped him out of it.

 

An ice figure of his oe sookbu stood before him. It twitched its chin downward in a parody of the bow it was supposed to be. The man would forever insist it was because he was not yet skilled enough in giving his figures motion, but Jimin had seen his figures dance and even jump when Jihoo decided to interrupt Jimin’s practise, which was quite often, under the auspices of ‘mentoring' the younger omega. Jimin tried valiantly not to get jealous of how far he had progressed in his ability.

 

Jimin squared his shoulders and turned to face the bane of his existence, “Jihoo.”

 

“My Prince. I’ve been sent by my eomeoni to summon you to her chambers.”

 

If possible, Jimin stiffened even further. He felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do the sudden emptiness in his heart.

 

His halmeoni, the Queen, had been ill for some time now. Every time Jimin was called to his chambers his heart dropped into his boots and he could feel the blood drain from his face. As Heir Apparent, he was called on more than anyone else, and as such the past few weeks would have had him sprouting a full head of grey hair had he not been born with a mop of silver already.

 

From his periphery he could see Yoongi emerging from the trees, his face blank as it always was when they were not alone. He nodded to Jihoo, “I will be there shortly.”

 

Jihoo smiled in that insincere way he had perfected, “I thought we could make the trek together? The Mountain, as I’m sure you know, can be…treacherous.”

 

Jimin didn’t bother to pull on his own smile, “That will not be necessary, thank you. I have my guard and as I’m sure _you_ know, I’ve made the trek countless times before.”

 

Jihoo seemed to finally notice Yoongi’s presence, when he came to stand by Jimin. He simply nodded, sickly smile never faltering, and turned on his heel.

 

When he was finally out of sight, Jimin let out the breath he had been holding. He felt Yoongi’s arm fold around his waist. No words needed to be spoken. They both hated Jihoon with a fiery and justified passion.

 

Jimin could understand Jihoo’s discontent towards himself to a certain extent. As Heir Presumptive, Jihoo would have inherited the throne had Jimin not been born, but Jimin also knew that Jihoo had only been made Heir Presumptive because his halmeoni had been desperate when none of his children were born with a head of silver hair and any obvious abilities. With his pale ivory-coloured hair, when Jihoo had presented with abilities when he was nine, he had been the closest thing to what the Heir was supposed to be.

 

But then Jimin had come into the world twenty years later, with a crown of silver hair and a touch that chilled his nursemaids to the bone.

 

Jimin could understand discontent, even jealousy, but not abject hatred. All his life, Jihoo had gone out of his way to make Jimin’s existence horrible. From insisting that he himself was the only one suited to teach Jimin how to control his ability, to continuously painting Jimin to the other courtiers as a fragile creature whose days were numbered, which could not be farther from the truth. He’d been reprimanded for his actions by Jimin’s parents and his halmeoni alike, but he always mangled to present himself as the one being victimised.

 

When he was sixteen, Jimin had fallen grievously ill for no apparent reason, and though he had survived, his shrewd halmeoni had known exactly what the true cause had been, for all that he had had no proof to present it to the court. He’d assigned Jimin a guard instead, one Min Yoongi. It had caused quite the stir, but his halmeoni had been insistent, for once using Jimin’s perceived image as fragile and sickly to his advantage.

 

The Min family was notorious, both for being an offshoot of the royal family on the wrong side of the sheets from a thousand years ago, and for being the most skilled fighters in the Kingdom. Even fourteen generations later, that royal heritage was clear in Yoongi’s shock of white hair, and his fighting skills were apparent as he was the youngest guard to be assigned to a direct royal heir in over a century. And, unbeknownst to anyone but Yoongi’s parents, Jimin and the Queen, the young alpha possessed some ability as well.

 

Jimin huffed out a breath that steamed in the suddenly frigid air, a product of that selfsame ability making itself known when Yoongi was in a state of heightened emotion, “We should go. I don’t know why my Halmeoni summoned me when I was to see her as soon as I returned tonight, but it can’t be good.”

 

Yoongi merely grunted and started walking, towing Jimin along by the grip he had around his waist, which proved to be somewhat difficult, as something at the edge of the clearing they were standing in had caught his attention.

 

There, in the tree closest to where he had been practising was formed the perfect likeness of Yoongi’s face. No droopy eyes, no flat nose. No imperfections at all. His fixed attention drew Yoongi’s eyes as well and he could feel the alpha stiffen, “Is that…”

 

Jimin nodded, feeling as if the movement might shatter his spine.

 

His petrified state prompted Yoongi into action, and the alpha drew his dagger as he advanced upon the tree. Jimin wanted to stop him, wanted to preserve his perfect creation, but he knew it was for the best. It took some time, but Yoongi managed to whittle down the wooden rendition of his own face until it looked like the new ovular scar in the tree was where a branch had recently been broken away.

 

He dusted himself off and retrieved Jimin from where he still stood, frozen to the spot.

 

As predicted, the trek up the mountain was long and arduous, and by the time they reached the castle, Jimin’s stomach was a mass of knots.

 

They were summarily lead to the Queen’s chambers by a serving boy, even though they probably knew the way better than anyone else, which led Jimin to believe that Jihoo had not in a actual fact been sent to summon him, but that the Queen had been willing to wait for their scheduled meeting later that evening. He fumed to himself all the way into his halmeoni’s room, who was looking no worse than he had for the past few weeks and was even sitting up and badgering his poor valet into bringing him his beloved and lately banned sweets.

 

“Just one, I promise I won’t ask you for any more after that, Jaein. You have my word as Queen, as ruler of Icheon, as protector of-”

 

Jimin felt his fury melt away and a smile work its way onto his face, “Halmeoni, that sounds an awful lot like begging. Have you not always told me that begging is beneath a Queen?”

 

Queen Jihae merely harrumphed, “Don’t preach at me boy. You know well I’ve always stipulated that some things are worth begging for.” His eyes momentarily skidded over to Yoongi, respectfully stationed to the left of the door, whereas Jihae’s own guard and valet was now once again stationed to the right. “As far as your pride and circumstance permits it.”

 

Jimin knew exactly what his halmeoni was referring to and felt his ears and cheeks go red. Though Jimin was by no means shameless, it seemed his halmeoni alone retained the ability to render him naught but a red-cheeked little boy asking what heats were.

 

He chose to ignore the jibe and made his way over to the chair by Jihae’s bed, “I was told that you needed me here as soon as possible.”

 

Jihae’s eyes narrowed, “That little rat Jihoo was at it again, eh? I swear, one of these days my cane is just going to go flying and he’ll find himself sans fingers. How I could have birthed such a nuisance is beyond me!” He huffed at seemed to settle himself deeper into his pillows, as if the thought of palace intrigue brought about by his own children exhausted him. “Just as well. I’ve been given news from the Citadel, not that your slimy gomobu knows about it yet, though it could have waited until tonight.”

 

Jimin sat up, trying to rise above being please at the vitriol aimed at his rival, “News from the Citadel? What could they possibly want to tell us?” He felt his stomach revert to it previous knotted state. Could they know?

 

A sour expression took over Jihae’s face, “Nothing, is what they have to tell us. They are content to dole out orders as if they are the great benevolent rulers of the Four Kingdoms.”

 

Jimin frowned, now more confused and afraid than ever, “Orders?”

 

“They have summoned you to some sort of Summit at the Floating Palace. The rulers from the Gunsan, Busan and obviously Pyeongchang will also be there. Ostensibly the aim of this gathering is to improve cohesion among the future rulers.” Jihae huffed again, affronted, “I'm not even in the ice yet and they already want to replace me.”

 

Jimin felt his fear start to ebb, “I don’t think they want to replace you, Halmeoni. I think they merely want a better future for the Four Kingdoms by bringing its future leaders together. You teach me everyday, does that seem like you are replacing yourself?”

 

Jihae tsked, “Evidently I’ve thought you well, boy. _Too_ well. And yes, essentially I am. That doesn’t mean those hoodlums can. That power lies with me, and _only_ me.”

 

“Has Jihoo been invited too?” Jimin couldn’t disguise the look of dismay on his face.

 

His halmeoni merely chuckled, “Of course not. Only you, your guard and some a warlock. Don’t ask me which one, I’ve already forgotten the name.”

 

“A warlock?” Jimin’s confusion returned. Unlike the Southern Kingdoms, Warlocks in the North did not hold positions of power, but held merely the role of observers. They noted everything and wrote it down and sent it in thick tomes to the Citadel. Jimin had always thought of them as glorified librarians.

 

“Hmm don’t look at me as if I would know. Apparently the one they seek to go with you holds some sort of untold significance.”

 

“Untold because they won’t tell you?”

 

“Exactly!”

 

Jimin giggled at his halmeoni’s antics, nearly falling off his chair. He knew he was close to doing just that when Yoongi stepped up next to him and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. By now the alpha was long-used to stepping up to save Jimin from his own innate clumsiness when laughter was involved.

 

“Sweet boy. I don’t want to send you away, but it seems I have no choice. You are supposedly to leave-” Jihae seemed to stop himself, seeming to recall something, “Say, when is your next heat due, boy?”

 

Once again, Jimin felt himself blushing so furiously he would be surprised if his hair hadn’t turned pink as well. He spluttered, “I-I don’t see-”

 

“Well I can’t very well send you off in the middle of your heat, now can I?! When is it?”

 

Jimin gulped. He supposed that made sense, but still considered it torture to have to share his cycle with his halmeoni, “It shouldn’t be for another two months. Surely I’ll be back by then?”

 

Jihae harrumphed again, “With the Citadel involved, there’s no telling. Hopefully you will be, and if not,” her shifty eyes landed on Yoongi once again, “you always have your knot-head with you anyway.” 

 

This time both Jimin and Yoongi could not contain their noises of dissent, sounding much like drowning cats, as they back-pedalled out of the room as fast as they could, “I-I’ll see you tonight at dinner, Halmeoni. I’m sure you don’t need me until then. See you!”

 

Once outside in the relative safety of the hallway, where they could still hear Jihae cackling like a mad old hag, they leant on one another for support as they gasped for breath.

 

The Queen’s legendary humour was certainly not for the faint of heart.

 

 

———

 

 

Sometimes, when night fell and Yoongi was softly snoring either on his chest or the pillow next to him, Jimin took the time to worry about their relationship.

 

Though Yoongi had been his personal guard for something close to six years, they hadn’t been lovers for nearly as long. Companion, yes. Most trusted confidant, certainly. But lovers? That had only happened when Jimin’s first heat had come, conveniently close to his twentieth birthday. A bit late, but that was par for the course for an omega with their ability, his halmeoni and the healers had reassured him.

 

Going through a heat alone was not an option for someone for whom cold presses would do little more than exasperate the fever, and so Jimin had asked the only alpha he trusted, the only alpha he could even think to ask.

 

Yoongi.

 

Ever since, Yoongi had been his only heat-companion.

 

So Jimin worried.

 

He worried about the possibility that he might have been trapping Yoongi in this relationship with him and that their mutual secrets were the only thing keeping them together.

 

“How am I supposed to sleep when I can hear you fretting loud enough to wake the dead?”

 

Jimin jumped and in a reflexive action smacked at where the voice had come from.

 

“Ow! I show any concern and you decide to hit me?”

 

“You startled me! I thought you were asleep!” Jimin defended, already rubbing at the spot on Yoongi’s shoulder where the blow had landed.

 

Yoongi huffed and shuffled closer to snuggle into Jimin’s side, wrapping his arms around his middle, muffling his voice, “What's got you awake and toiling so late anyway? Is it about your halmeoni? About the summit?”

 

“No it isn’t, but thanks for reminding me that I should be worrying about those things anyway.”

 

Yoongi chuckled into Jimin’s side and he tried not to wiggle from the ticklish sensation, “What is it then?”

 

Silence. Jimin couldn’t bring himself to say it. What was he supposed to say when he himself wasn’t even sure what he was thinking? Was he really concerned for Yoongi and his possible entrapment, or was he simply being insecure? Did the thought of Yoongi being with him simply because he had actual, true, beyond-guard-and-ward feelings for him truly scare him, and f it did, why would it?

 

Well, he knew why. The thought of this being reciprocal was terrifying because it meant that one day Jimin would have to break Yoongi’s heart. One day he would have to tell Yoongi that they could not be lovers or anything more anymore because one day Jimin would have to marry some influential alpha for the sake of the throne.

And with his halmeoni’s looming illness and this seemingly random summit, that day was getting closer and closer. His halmeoni hadn’t outright said it because he needn’t have. The fact was, part of the reason Jihae was willing to let Jimin go to the summit was because it would be an ideal place to find a future husband.

 

He was so entrenched in his thoughts that he only realised he had lifted his thumb to chew on it when Yoongi pulled his hand down and kissed it instead. Those dark, half-mast eyes had gone from sleepy and humorous to enquiring and concerned in a matter of seconds, “What is it, Jimin? What’s got you so twisted up?”

 

The tears welling in Jimin’s eyes had Yoongi sitting up with a speed honed from years of practising combat. He cupped Jimin’s damp cheeks and stared into his eyes as if he could scry the answers from them, “Tell me.”

 

“Yoongi…do you…do you stay with me because you want to? Because you love me?”

 

The alpha looked perplexed, “Why else would I?”

 

Jimin was fully sobbing now, “B-because I made you.”

 

Yoongi’s mouth had flattened and for once it failed to have Jimin in a fit of giggles, “Just this morning you told me that my guts are too stubborn to be harmed by your pretty head.” He swept his thumbs over his cheeks, more smudging the tears sideways than actually wiping them off, “Oh Mochi, do you really think I’d stay with you for anything other than love?” He smiled a little, “You might be the future Queen, but I’m a Min. No royalty has ever stopped us from doing what we thought was right.”

 

Jimin felt his despair tinge with bitterness, “But that’s just it, isn’t it? One day I’ll be Queen and I’ll have to marry some other alpha with…with-”

 

“You can say it, you know. Someone with _legitimate_ blood. I’m not so concerned with heritage that the thought of some long-dead bastard has me in tears at the very thought.”

 

Jimin swallowed his hiccups and glared. “Does it not bother you that I will have to marry someone else one day?”

 

“Of course it bothers me. But because I love you, I know that it is your duty, and I cannot presume to keep you from doing what you must. I’ve resigned myself to keeping you for as long as I can. When the time comes one day, I’ll step aside, no matter how much it hurts. Because it will be the right thing to do, just as loving you now is the right thing to do.”

 

Jimin gave in and sobbed into Yoongi’s shoulder, “I wish I was someone else. I wish you didn’t have to be with me.”

 

Yoongi snorted into his hair, “ _Have_ to? Do I _have_ to put up with your fretting late at night? Do I _have_ to kiss you and hug you and _fuck_ you? You know, when your grandmother appointed me as you guard, she never said I’d _have_ to do any of these things. I choose to do them. Because I love you, and perhaps you feeling this way is my fault because I don’t tell you enough, and perhaps I don’t tell you enough because I thought it might make our inevitable separation hurt less, but now I see that I was stupid to think such a thing. I love you Jiminie.”

 

Jimin finally raised his head enough to give Yoongi a salty kiss, his sobs still wracking through him.

 

Yoongi sighed into the kiss but returned it, eventually migrating his kisses to Jimin’s jaw and neck with a plan in mind, “Do I have to kiss you here?” He moved down to one of those delectable collarbones, “What about here?” To the centre of his bare chest, “Or here?” He hesitated briefly before wrapping his lips around one rosy pink nipple, lifting his chin to quirk a challenging brow at a panting Jimin, “Do I have to kiss you here?”

 

Jimin had recovered enough to square his jaw and glare down at his assailant, “Well now you do, because if you stop I just might kick you in your stubborn guts.”

 

Yoongi grinned and nipped at a bit of belly just to feel it jump at the sensation, “Your wish is my command…My Prince.” His lips moved further down, below the bellybutton to which he also bestowed a lingering kiss, to the apex of those lovely, muscular thighs.

 

This, Yoongi considered to be his own personal treasure, because the soft little curls here were not silver as the rest of the hair on his lovely was, no. It was a pure, striking white. The same white that sat atop Yoongi’s own head. He knew it was odd to be pleased about such a thing, but after the first time someone had offhandedly mentioned Jimin’s future husband after that fateful first heat, Yoongi could not help but drag his prince off at the nearest opportunity to avail himself to this treasure, and some proprietary part of his alpha hind-brain had spotted the similarity and clung to it.

 

He laid a kiss when those white curls started and worked his way down with his tongue, to where the little nub was peeking out of its hood, and where his musk was strongest. The breathy moans and sighs erupting from above him only encouraged him, and so he laved the flat of his tongue over that nub, again and again until his ears were filled with lusty moans and he had to grip Jimin's thighs to protect his head from being crushed. In retaliation, he decided to play some more. He stopped what he was doing and raised his head slightly to look up at his charge, letting his breath wash over the most intimate part of him, “Do I have to kiss you here?” He leaned down again and delved his tongue suddenly into that tight, wet heat, so sweet he always found himself diving back for more even when he had other plans.

 

Above him, Jimin had thrown his head back and wailed, and Yoongi had to spare a thought for others possibly hearing. It wouldn’t do for the whole palace to know of their entanglement after all. He lifted his head again and crawled up over his quivering body, silencing him with a kiss that felt more like he was devouring the Prince than anything else. Once he was sure only the faintest of sounds were escaping the clutch of his mouth, he trailed his hand down Jimin’s stomach to where his mouth had been previously. He moved onto his side next to him so the angle would be a little easier on his arm, and slid his fingers through the wetness gathered around Jimin’s pretty lips, making them nice and slick before he slid them inside. He pressed his thumb into the little nub, circling and wiggling it from side to side and again catching Jimin’s wails in his mouth.

 

He wanted Jimin to come like this despite his own hardness pressing insistently into the other’s hip. He wanted to watch every moment pass over that gorgeous face with his own mind clear. But in order to do that, he would have to back away from the kiss, both for his own clarity of mind and so he could watch the emotions play out at the source.

 

He stilled the movement of his hand and pulled away from the kiss, hovering close by to whisper in Jimin’s ear, “Darling, I want to watch you but I can’t do that if you can’t be quiet. Bite on your lip for me, keep it all in or I’ll turn you over so you can scream into the pillow.”

 

Jimin nodded frantically, “I'll be quiet, I promise, just make me come. Please Yoongi,” He hesitated, eyes growing huge and demanding, “Please Alpha, I promise I’ll be good.”

 

Yoongi swore and dove back in for one last kiss before he pulled back and recommenced the the motions of his hand. “Come for me.” He flashed a secret smile, one meant only for the omega writhing on his fingers, “Come for me, Sweet Thing.”

 

And he did.


	4. Prince Regent Namjoon, Alpha.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namjoon makes the decision to ignore his cousin's wishes in order to save his life.

Three days.

 

Three days without any sign of Jeongguk’s rut abating.

 

The council had been informed on the second and was jumping down his father’s throat every hour, demanding some action or other be taken. They had to be continuously and ever more sternly reminded that when it came to decisions regarding the King’s personal health, they had no leg to stand on. Namjoon found it telling that Lord Kumsong was for once rather silent, but as of yet had no mental energy to expend on the continuing investigation.

 

Namjoon was starting to run out of options, and so when his father had arrived to take over his vigil, he’d gone down into the stables to saddle up instead of resting as he was supposed to. To his surprise, along the way he’d gained an unexpected companion.

 

“Aren't you supposed to be guarding the King’s room?”

 

Seunghyun’s tone was neutral and he stared straight ahead as they made their way down quiet hallway, “It is protocol to be relieved from duty on the days of one’s rut. Besides, are you not supposed to be accompanied by a guard when going about anyway, my Lord?”

 

Namjoon was shocked and in no small measure impressed. He took a tentative sniff of the air and sure enough, he could detect the scent of an early rut. He barely spared a thought at the guard knowing he’d escaped the the sharp eyes of his armoured nanny. When he himself felt the stirrings of his rut, he was completely useless, confined to his room as soon as it even looked like it was starting and in need of a rut-companion almost at once. Yet here he was walking next to an alpha starting his rut, and the man was just strolling by, barely a bead of sweat on his temples in the humid coastal air. He frowned, mind racing.

 

They exited the palace and nodded at the guards stationed at the door as if nothing untoward was happening. Namjoon couldn’t help but be relieved that the presence of Seunghyun at his side lent his midnight outing some credibility, but he was still curious, “Where are you going then?”

 

Seunghyun gave him a look that plainly said Namjoon was being somewhat thick, “Where do the alphas of the royal guard usually go when they are in my situation, my Lord? You should know, since you are the one who proposed the idea to the King and made the arrangements.”

 

 _Oh_. He turned the answer over in his mind however, and felt himself now more confused than curious. He had been under the impression that Seunghyun and a certain Warlock were…involved. Mind, it seemed to be a very private arrangement, and Namjoon had stumbled across the knowledge quite by accident, as he usually did. He’d barged into the warlock’s study with a burning question about some or other subject, seen two figures entwined on the floor, and promptly panicked enough to break the heavy door clean off its hinges. Only Seunghyun quick roll to the side has saved both him and Jiyong from being little more than a stain in the luscious carpet.

 

“I was under the impression that you…you and the High Warlock. That you were…”

 

The guard turned his head an arched a terrifying eyebrow at him, “That we were what, my Lord?”

 

Namjoon tried not to visibly gulp, “Together. Romantically.”

 

“We are.”

 

The Lord Regent had never felt so perplexed in his life, and he couldn’t stop his highly intelligent mouth from blurting his thoughts, “But then why are you going to the Estate for a rut companion if you already have one?”

 

Luckily for him, Seunghyun felt like taking pity on him, “With the King in dire straits, Jiyong is too busy devising a solution to devote his time to me, and so here I am.”

 

Despite himself, Namjoon felt judgement soak into his next words, “Does it not bother you to have to spend your rut with someone else?”

 

Seunghyun’s tone went flat, “Monogamy is a luxury only afforded to certain people, my Lord Regent, and royal guards as well as Head Warlocks are not among them.”

 

Namjoon’s gut and cheeks burned with his shame, “I am so sorry. My ignorance and callousness are unforgivable, and so I shall not ask for it.” 

 

The guard looked ta him for a long moment as they walked, seeming to assess his sincerity. Finally, he seemed to deem Namjoon worthy and smiled, “I shall give it nonetheless, my Lord. Your words were not ill-intentioned, after all.”

 

They had arrived at the stables, but Namjoon still felt ashamed of his ignorance and prejudice. He tried to convince himself that everyone made mistakes, and that as long as he worked to improve on these flaws it would be alright. By the time they were saddled up and ready to go, it had started working. Mostly.

 

Once he was seated in his horse, it seemed to occur to Seunghyun that he had no idea where Namjoon was going, and without a guard, no less. He cleared his throat, and Namjoon was secretly pleased and a little ashamed that the man seemed to be at least a little affected. “My Lord, I feel it is my duty to ask where you are going, and why you are doing so without a guard.”

 

Namjoon translated that to mean, “ _Why are you being so stupid and making my life so difficult?_ ” He cleared his throat and tried to appear as if he knew what he was doing, “I'm going the same place you are, incidentally, so I _do_ have a guard.”

 

Seunghyun looked at him, his expression unchanging, but it clearly stated his incredulity nonetheless. As Captain of the Royal Guard, he was made aware through various ways exactly the comings and goings of the various members of the royal household, so he was no doubt fully cognisant of the fact that Namjoon only visited the place they were going to at very specific times, and that this was not one of those times.

 

Namjoon decided to be forthcoming, if only so it would get them to their destination faster, “I'm going on behalf of the King.”

 

Seunghyun’s face seemed to clear, if clearing nothing was even possible, and he nodded. He clicked his tongue and his horse started moving. Namjoon patted his own horse’s neck, as he always did, and spurred her onward.

 

The House of Debauchery was the grandest building besides the palace in all of the Kingdom of Busan, and a rather blatant display of what most people tried to ignore about the dirtier but necessary parts of society. Surrounded by acres of forestland, it was said to have discretion, but it was a rather well-known secret. It was built in some western style to make it seem exotic, with a crescent shape, light grey stone, large windows and huge, towering marble pillars and numerous wrought iron balconies. The outside was tame compared to the inside, and thinking about going inside gave Namjoon a headache.

The Brothel Master was neither exceptionally tall nor broad, and in fact looked positively minuscule next to the hulkingdoor guard, but he held a commanding presence all the same. Anyone who met Lord Seungri was quickly taken in by his jovial nature and perfect teeth, but Namjoon had heard enough from some very reliable sources that he was not to be trifled with. He ruled the Kingdom’s less pleasant subjects with an iron fist, and for this reason he’d had some dealings with the royal family in the past.

 

Better a devil you could trust to want gold than one who pretended they didn’t, Namgi would always say when Namjoon dared to pose his objections. After a few interactions with the alpha, Namjoon reluctantly agreed.

 

He was standing on the wide stone stone veranda, smiling at them as if this was a scheduled tea-visit and not some clandestine midnight foray.

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen?” He swept his eyes over Seunghyun from head to toe, and smirked, “And what a pleasure it is.”

 

Namjoon cleared his throat and tried to ignore the voice in his head insisting that he be disgusted by the sight of an alpha so obviously lusting after another alpha, “I'm here for business. Seunghyun is here…for pleasure.” Namjoon would have giggled to himself like a little boy had he not been so nervous.

 

Seungri’s grin widened and he gestured with a sweep of his arm for them to come in. They followed him through the enormous door, manned by to equally enormous footmen, and nodded at another alpha standing in the foyer, “Kyungsun will show Seunghyun to his companion.” He looked at Namjoon, the smirk still playing about the corners of his lips, “And you my Lord, can follow me to my study.”

 

Under the aroma of burning herbs and scent oils was the unmistakable mingle of scents denoting exactly what happened here at all times of the day. Namjoon felt himself react slightly, felt himself exuding more than the usual amount of scent to ward off alphas, a scent that said simply _mine_. He had no idea how Seungri could stand in this all day and everyday.

 

As they made their way through the labyrinth of halls and Namjoon tried valiantly not to glance up at the orgy painted on the ceiling, Seungri kept up a steady stream of chatter about the various furnishings and decorations, where what had come from and what it had cost. Normally, the boy in Namjoon who yearned to know everything there was possible to know about the world beyond the borders of the Four Kingdoms would be delighted at this chance, but with the image of a suffering Jeongguk plaguing his mind’s eye, he found himself almost praying for the Brothel Master to shut his mouth and walk faster.

 

They finally reached the office after what felt like enough time to watch a sapling grow into a massive tree, and Namjoon sat himself in one of the ornately carved chairs at the massive desk without being asked. Seungri only seemed to be amused by this and took his own seat, “So what can I do for you, my Lord Regent? You only visit during certain times and from what I can smell, this is not one of those times.” He grinned lecherously, “Have I finally converted you to a life of hedonism? If this is the case I have several choices lined up, some of which have been thirsting after your kno-”

 

Namjoon had been waiting for a polite space in which to interrupt, but decided to jump in before his ears started to steam, “I'm not here for that. I’m here for the King.”

 

It was the first time Namjoon had ever seen the Brothel Master falter, his face a mask of confusion, “The little one?”

 

Namjoon fought down a burst of hysterical giggles and took a deep breath, “He's gone into his first rut. He refused a heat companion, but it’s been three days and I’m afraid I cannot accommodate his request without killing him.”

 

Seungri stared at him with a blank face for so long that Namjoon was starting to think he’d triggered some sort of episode. He'd risen out of his seat to call for help when the man finally came to and slammed his hand on the desk. The loud _thwack_ startled Namjoon and he nearly asphyxiated on his own saliva when all he could do was let out a cross between a grunt and a squeal. Seungri did not look apologetic in the least, “Why on earth would the King refuse a heat companion? Those dainty little royal omegas who usually square up for the job are gold compared to my stock of bronze.”

 

Namjoon cleared his throat and tried not to look as uncomfortable as he was, “Certain…circumstances prevent us from relying on the usual source of…relief.”

 

Seungri’s face didn’t change, “You mean the poisoning of King Jeonghoon.”

 

Namjoon was tempted to slam his head on the desk, but settled for simply resting it gently on the wooden surface. “How do you know about something that is supposed to be a state secret.”

 

Seungri shrugged, “A few of the councilmen are regular clients here. I hear things and I put the puzzle together. There’s not much I _don’t_ know, to be honest. I’d be happy to share considering how rich you’ve made me recently.”

 

For a moment the possibilities ran themselves through Namjoon’s head, but he stopped himself short. “We can discuss that at another time. What I need now is your most trustworthy…worker. Someone who won’t be loose lipped about the experience.”

 

Seungri snorted, “All whores are sly as foxes who’d love the bragging rights, mine more so than most. It’s less about the trustworthiness of the whore and more about the size of your purse, which I trust is not a problem?”

 

Namjoon gave him a blank look.

 

“Well then. I think I have just who you need. He’s one of my personal favourites and quite discreet, and I think it counts in your favour that he has a particular dislike of Lord Kumsong.”

 

Namjoon’s ears perked at that, “Why?”

 

“Well to my understanding it had something to do with a leather harness and someone’s dying cousin-”

 

“I don’t mean why your man dislikes Kumsong, I mean why would it count in our favour?”

 

“Well, at least two of my boys that he rents have whispered in my ear about how he likes to dress them up in royal robes and then choke them whilst calling them ‘Your Highness’. He’s had to pay his weight in gold for the damage he’s done. I mean, I could be wrong but that’s a fairly obvious one, and he would feel safe to use my whores to act out his sordid little fantasies because he doesn’t know I’m -shall we say acquainted?- with the crown.”

 

Namjoon leaned back in his chair and mulled this over. He’d had his suspicions about Kumsong, and whilst this seemed to hit the nail on the head, he felt there was something more. Kumsong’s family had been loyal to the crown for generations, and the sudden hatred had to have been promoted by something. He looked up at Seungri again, “Can I trust you to keep this to yourself for now?”

 

Seungri grinned at him, “My Lord Regent, I would be honoured to keep and collect secrets for you.”

 

“And how much will it cost me?” Namjoon was no fool.

 

“Seeing as you’ve provided me with my most stable source of income to date, consider it repaying a debt.”

 

———

 

The carriage Seungri provided was just as luxurious and ostentatious as everything else the man seemed to own, and despite this, Namjoon found the ride back to the palace to be the most uncomfortable of his life. Perhaps it was his worsening headache, or perhaps it was the petite omega sitting across from him, who he’d paid a hefty price for and who was supposed to fuck his cousin so he wouldn’t die.

 

Sometimes he wished he lived a less complicated life. A little house by the sea, where he could look at little crabs all day and perhaps have a partner who would sing him to sleep. Little, simple things.

 

The palace guards didn’t even bat an eye at him entering alongside a cloaked figure and he made a mental note to enquire with Seunghyun about this once the man returned from his…vacation.

 

The omega, Minsun he thought his name was, made no sound as he padded after him down the halls to the royal quarters. It gave Namjoon the chills, and he tried to tell himself it was for any reason but the guilt he felt for betraying his cousin’s trust this way.

 

He gave the guards stationed at Jeongguk’s door a nod and pushed open the doors. He proceeded through to the bathroom, where his father and Seungwa were knelt next to the tub, looking panicked. Namjoon forgot all about the omega with him and rushed to the tub, and what he saw there made his heart drop into his feet.

Jeongguk was thrashing, flushed and making the most horribly pained noises. It was clear that he was approaching the peak of his rut, and with no relief whatsoever, it was also clear that he wouldn’t survive another two hours of this. Namjoon stuck his hand in the water collected at the bottom of the tub and found it to be lukewarm, and there was no more ice to be found. His brilliant mind turned in on itself trying to find a solution, and he became so submerged in his panic that he didn’t hear his father enquire who the person with him was the first or second time.

 

His vision went grey around the edges and his lungs burned, but he wasn’t ware of these things until he felt his head wrenched to the side and a sharp sting across his face.

 

“Namjoon, for the love of the gods, breathe!”

 

He sucked in a breath and the influx of air made him almost dizzier than before, but soon enough his vision cleared and he looked his father in the eye.

 

“Good. Now tell me who you brought with you.”

 

Namjoon swallowed, suddenly aware again of exactly what he’d intended to do, “I went to Lord Seungri’s estate to find Jeongguk a rut companion.” He looked down at Jeongguk, who was still thrashing despite his father’s hold on him, “I'll be betraying hiss trust, but I’ll also be saving his life.”

 

His father stared at him for a moment and then nodded as if he had expected this, he beckoned to Minsun, who’d stopped at the door and was simply staring at them all, “You, have you dealt with this before?”

 

The omega nodded and came forward, shedding his cloak and kneeling beside Namjoon, “I know what to do.”

 

Namgi nodded and stood, gesturing for his son and Seungwa to do the same. Namjoon got shakily to his knees, almost nauseous now that what he’d only been thinking of in vague terms this whole time was actually taking place. He nodded to the whore and left the room on legs that felt like they were cast in iron.

 

Once the trio was in the bedroom they seemed to be at a loss for what to do with themselves. Seungwa set about cleaning the mess the room had become, and Namjoon and his father silently made the decision not to leave even though the wait would most likely be mortifying. They couldn’t leave the King’s life completely in the hands of an unknown whore.

 

They sat on the big chest by Jeongguk’s bed, and Namjoon was painfully reminded of the night that started this all.

 

For a few moments all is silent, the atmosphere growing more tense by the second, to the point that Namjoon almost wanted to get up to go check that Munsin was _doing his job_. He was on his feet when the main doors to the bedroom burst open and Jiyong stormed inside, purple robes billowing and eyes glowing…blue?

 

“Where is he?”

 

Namgi rose to his feet as well, “In the bathing room being attended by his rut companion.”

 

Jiyong blanched and rushed for the doors to the bathing room and threw them open, bellowing “STOP” at the top of his lungs.

 

Father and son swiftly moved as one to the Warlock's side and found Minsun naked, frozen with one foot in the tub and staring at the Jiyong with wide eyes.

 

Jeongguk was silent, perhaps soothed by the scent of a receptive omega in the room, and so was everyone else until Jiyong stepped forward and knelt by the tub. His approach prompted Minsun to step back and pick up his cloak and pull it on. Some distant part of Namjoon was surprised by this little action, having thought whores to have no regard for whether they were seen in the nude or not.

 

Namjoon approached the tub as well to see Jiyong with one finger in the water, his eyes closed in what looked complete concentration. He dared not ask what the warlock was doing for fear of breaking that intense concentration, but he was burning with curiosity.

 

Why were Jiyong’s eyes blue now? Why had he commanded the Munsin to stop?

 

He was distracted from his rumination when he saw the water around Jiyong’s fingers start to morph into little balls of ice, dispersing throughout the tub as they increased in number. Once the tub was filled with a goodly amount of ice, Jiyong finally slumped forward over the side and let out a groan. He looked up and Namjoon saw not only his glowing blue eyes, but the dark circles under them. The warlock was clearly exhausted.

 

Namjoon offered his hand to the man to help him to his feet, and the man accepted. Seungwa tentatively entered the room, seeming to scrape together all of his bravery to ask, “Will the King be alright now?”

 

Jiyong nodded, “For now at least. I’ve discovered the poison that was used to kill King Jeonghoon, and the ice will give me time to devise the antidote.” He glanced at Minsun, “Until I do, it is imperative that his rut isn’t sated by traditional means. It would kill him.”

 

“How?” Namgi asked, sounding world-weary.

“I will explain everything in my study, where I can start work on the antidote. For now, the King will be safe with Seungwa and his guard.” He looked at Minsun for a long moment, “Perhaps even the whore. He might as well work considering he’s been paid. This should be the easiest coin he’s ever earned.” Minsun simply nodded and stared at the floor, and Namjoon was starting to understand why this man was Seungri’s favourite. He didn’t seem to be ruffled by anything.

 

Jiyong looked around the room at large and frowned, “Where is Seunghyun?”

 

The room dropped into a pregnant silence, the only sound to be heard that of Seungwa scooping cool water over Jeongguk’s head.

 

Namjoon looked at Namgi, as the man no-doubt knew exactly where Seunghyun was, but the man seemed to be very fascinated by the pattern of tiles under their feet. His reticence told Namjoon that he was not the only one with the knowledge of Jiyong and Seunghyun’s attachment. Namjoon swallowed around the ball of ash lodged in his throat, and gestured to the door, “I'll tell you on the way?” 

 

Jiyong’s frown deepened but he acquiesced and lead the way from the room.

 

Namjoon gave Minsun one last look on his way out, and the omega already seemed immersed in his role as caretaker, knelt across from Seungwa and doing his part to keep the King cooled down. He didn’t trust it, but it would have to do for now.

 

He nearly had to run to catch up with Jiyong and his father, and when he did Jiyong shot him a questioning glance, “So where is the Captain?”

 

Namjoon found himself nearly choking on his tongue, and it seemed his father finally plucked up the bravery to say what had to be said, “Some hours ago he informed me that he was entering his rut. I dismissed him for the duration of it.”

 

Jiyong stopped dead, and at the brisk pace they had been moving at, Namjoon and his father had to walk back quite a few steps to stand near him, but not too close. Jiyong had always had an iron hold on his temper, but it was best not to stand where a dragon could sneeze. He stared at them both, and Namjoon was starting to feel like a puppy that had piddled on an expensive rug. Beside him, hunched shoulders and a continued fascination with the floor told of his father’s similar feelings.

 

Suddenly, with a burst of speed, the Warlock was moving again and not knowing what to do, father and son followed helplessly in his wake. They followed him in silence all the way into the office, where something Namjoon had never in his life thought to prepare for happened.

 

Jiyong burst into tears.

 

They were the kind that wracked the whole body, left no breath in the lungs and stained clothes with big splotches.

 

Namgi was completely frozen in the doorway, and Namjoon wasn’t much better. He had enough presence of mind to tug his father into the room and to pull the door shut, but he was hesitant to do the obvious thing: to embrace and comfort a person who was so obviously in pain.

 

In the end, he could take no more and so stepped forward to take the sobbing man into his arms and squeeze. He didn’t say anything, didn’t know what would be appropriate to say. He was too privileged and protected in life to have ever experienced such a thing.

 

Eventually, Jiyong calmed and pulled himself back. He drew in a painful sounding breath and just like that, he was the unflappable High Warlock once again. But for the puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, there was absolutely no indication of his inner turmoil. He gestured with a flick of his hand for Namjoon and his father to take their seat at his desk as he started flitting about the room, collecting things, and talking all at once.

 

“The poison is very rare and not well-known, which luckily narrows down the possibilities of who could have acquired it. It works in a very peculiar way, in that it can be consumed at any time and will lay dormant until it is triggered by a rut, and it becomes lethal when the alpha engages in intercourse and his knot expands. I’m not entirely sure wether Jeongguk has been poisoned or not, but from what I can tell, he has. His rut is too intensive to be normal.”

 

Namjoon interjected, “So it’s not because he refused a rut companion?”

 

The Warlock shook his head, placing a clear jar of something that looked like dried prunes on his desk, except they were white and suddenly Namjoon felt the urge to cross his legs tightly, “Being without a rut partner is perfectly safe as long as the alpha can keep cool. Jeongguk is lucky he has such a rich and educated cousin.”

 

The tiniest hint of resentment to be found in the Warlock’s tone felt like a small but sharp knife to Namjoon’s gut. He chose to ignore it in favour of sating his curiosity for the time being, “How did you become an Ice Mage so quickly?”

 

Jiyong seemed almost distracted as he tugged on a worn green book in the massive bookcase next to his desk, and Namjoon gasped loudly when it moved and revealed a store-room hidden behind it, which the Warlock entered ad continued speaking as if nothing was out of the ordinary, “I have an old friend from my days at the Citadel who is an Ice Mage. As soon as Jeongguk entered his rut I knew I had to contact him. I thought he’d be able to come here and help, but he’s in Icheon. So I had to rely on books and whatever he could tell me in a letter to master it myself.”

 

For the first time since entering the office, Namgi made his voice heard, and it was not so much words as a sound of complete and utter disbelief.

 

Jiyong reentered the office just soon enough for Namjoon to see him roll his eyes, “You saw what I just did in that bathing room and you choose to be sceptical?” He stopped his continuous movement and looked Namgi in the eye, “Fire and ice are not so different, my Lord, and it just so happens that I am quite skilled in what I do. Suspend your disbelief and move past it. We have bigger things to focus on, such as inventing a cure for this poison so that our King doesn’t keel over the first time a pretty omega bats their eyes at him, yes?”

 

Namjoon clasped his father’s forearm but kept his eyes on Jiyong, “What do you need?”

 

———

 

A week later found Jeongguk in a carriage bound for Pyeongchang. He was shivering, dripping sweat and barely conscious, but he would be alive for the foreseeable future.

 

Namjoon sat across from him, watching Seungwa mop up his sweat with a cloth kept cool by a rather large hunk of ice in a bucket, courtesy of their favourite Warlock.

 

In the dead of night, Jiyong had shoved him and Namjoon into the carriage(which was the same one loaned to them by Lord Seungri, and Namjoon tried to convince himself that it was because it gave them anonymity and not because the Warlock could be very petty when he wanted to be) with an entourage consisting only of Seungwa and Seunghyun, and four large black horses(also on loan from the Brothel Master, Namjoon wasn’t even going to try anymore) as soon as Jeongguk could string more than two words together after being force-fed a horrid-smelling antidote.

 

Sending Jeongguk away under such conditions would not only keep him safe from future poisoning, but would also give Jiyong and Namgi time to find the perpetrator.

 

This left Namjoon with what he considered to be a far harder job.

 

The morning after Jiyong had informed them what the poison was, Yujin had entered Namgi’s office with a completely blank face that Namjoon immediately recognised, for he had seen it mere hours earlier on Jiyong, when he’d forced himself to ignore his broken heart and do what had to be done.

 

Without the omega having to open his mouth, Namjoon had known what it was he had come to say.

 

The Queen Mother was dead, had passed quietly in his sleep of Mourning Sickness, and Namjoon would have to be the one to inform Jeongguk that not only was his remaining parent dead, but that he wouldn’t even be able to attend his funeral.

 

Namjoon stared out the window at the wilderness flying by, and wished once again for a simpler life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks late because exams are a thing and so is crippling depression hooray.
> 
> Please enjoy and leave a comment or kudos if you do!


	5. Warlock Hoseok, Alpha.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoseok and that time he got stuck in a carriage with Yoonmin for two weeks.

The guard was as cold as the lake far below them.

 

Min Yoongi had four states of being, it seemed, bored when his face was blank, disgust or disappointed when he grimaced, and downright furious when he scowled. Hoseok would have assumed the alpha had no idea how to smile if his fourth and final state of being didn’t seem to be smiling at his royal change, the ever-friendly Prince Jimin, who was an entirely different matter.

 

The Prince seemed to have only four states of being as well, but they were all at the other end of the spectrum from those of his guard. They ranged from pleased when his mouth-corners were slightly turned up, delighted when his teeth were showing, overjoyed when his smile made his round face seem to plump up a little, and absolutely ecstatic when his eyes completely disappeared under the force of his grinning cheeks.

 

Hoseok had no idea what to do in response to those charms when they were aimed at him, had no idea what do with being acknowledged by a Royal at all. Normally the royal protocol for dealing with Warlocks entailed either avoidance or completely failing to acknowledge their presence even if they were right next to you. Like his Halmeoni the Queen, the Prince seemed to be exempt from this protocol, either by the grace of being the Heir Apparent, or what Hoseok assumed to be the more likely case, he just didn’t care.

 

As the carriage -one Hoseok would be sharing with the Prince and his painfully rigid guard- was being loaded with a final few things, the Prince stood next to him and was apparently trying to make conversation. He wasn’t very good at it, though Hoseok supposed being the Heir Apparent didn’t lend many opportunities to have intimate conversations with people.

 

“Are you excited to be going?”

 

Hoseok was indifferent, but he found himself wanting to put the Prince at ease, so he smiled, “Yes, quite.”

 

Jimin’s slightly pleased smile morphed into a delighted showing of teeth, “I’m quite interested in seeing the powers of Pyeongchang’s royal family at work. I hear they can control the currents of the air, which would explain why their palace floats. I’ve heard it said that their Prince has the strongest ability they’ve seen yet.”

 

Hoseok found himself to be a little impressed. Most of the Courtiers of Icheon gave not a second thought to their own abilities or those of anyone else, found them to be a boring, everyday things similar to breathing or using a chamber pot. The sheer and ignorant privilege made for a rather stiff acquaintance with the guild of Warlocks stationed in Icheon, for very few Warlocks cn boast to come from such prestigious backgrounds. He still remembers the day he presented with his ability.

 

A simple farmer, his poor eomma had had no idea what to do with the bright streaks of light floating through his kitchen, or his son laughing in pure joy at the sight. He’d simply finished going about his daily tasks, keeping an eye on the flourishing shapes of light floating throughout the little house, following his little son of eight years about even outside in broad daylight.

 

That evening, when Hoseok’s appa had arrived home and nearly had some sort of fit at the sight before him, his wife staring intently at the little shapes his son seemed to be weaving of pure light on the kitchen table, it had become clear that their son could not stay with them.

 

The very next day, Haechul had taken his son by the hand and walked him to the nearest temple, which given their family status as far-reach rice farmers, was quite a bit of distance. Little Hoseok had thought it all quite an adventure, until he’d had to sleep under the open stars, feeling quite exposed. His appa had wrapped an arm around his little body and pulled him close, telling him in his rough voice of the stars and the history they held.

 

Hoseok might not have seen his parents since, but he’d never let go of that memory, and his fascination with the stars. The priest at the temple who’d first seen Hoseok, before the warlocks had come to get him, had even said something about him gaining his power from the stars, and though by now Hoseok knew this not to be true, he liked to take comfort from the idea because it reminded him of his abeoji, who’s name he couldn’t even remember.

 

There were no family ties in the Citadel, only the communion of scholarship and craftsmanship.

 

A sharp whistle summoned him back to the present, and he noticed that the carriage had finally been loaded to capacity, his own merger sack of belonging shoved into another crate that looked like it belonged to the guard, something Hoseok was sure the man would be quite happy with once he found out.

 

He swallowed and waited for the prince’s family and friends to see him off, and was only half-half-surprised to see that the number that encapsulated was rather small. His parents, the Prince and Princess and nobody else. He ripped his gaze away from the heartfelt exchange and tried not to feel bitter. Soon enough though, he heard a grunt from beside him and found the guard gesturing for him to board the carriage. He arched an eyebrow at the man, already quite fed up with his surly visage, and took his sweet time hefting his weight into the wooden box on wheels.

 

The inside was surprisingly simple, more aimed at comfort and practicality than decoration. He inspected what would be his seat whilst he waited for his companions, and them to be plush with furs, and extendable so that one could stretch out for slumber. He found the idea of sleeping inconfined space with the other two nearby to be a bit unsettling, but he supposed that the urgency of their trip meant they would not have the time to set up camp each and every night and though it was summertime, evenings in the North could turn quite frigid.

 

He settled himself in his seat and didn’t have to wait long before the Prince and his pet ice-block climbed in and made themselves comfortable. There was a tense moment of silence that stretched beyond the carriage lurching forwards at a slight downward slant, making its cautious way down the winding mountain road. It seemed even the bright and happy Prince had no idea how to ease the tension, his eyes flicking from Warlock to guard and back again, looking as if he wanted to say something but had no idea what.

 

It was clear to everyone in the carriage that the tension was for a very specific reason: Distrust.

 

It was also very expected. By virtue of their upbringing in the Citadel, most Warlocks were secretive and those stationed in the North more so than most. The mutual dismissive and oftentimes hostile attitude between the Northerners and the Guild insured if not open dislike, then thinly veiled suspicion. Even if this were not true, it was rather an occupational hazard for the Guard not to trust just anyone his charge came into forced contact with for prolonged periods of time. And the Prince, well, he might have hidden it better, but Hoseok understood well enough that Royals just couldn’t trust anyone, especially not in the fragile political peace of Icheon.

 

When the Council had announced that all channels of communication to the other Kingdom’s would be closed, the Guild had had to fight tooth-and-nail to retain their own connections with the Citadel and the three other kingdoms. For all that they could argue that the Citadel and its people were neutral in the matters of war and trade between the Four Kingdoms, in order to operate across the land as they always had, they had to rely on the monarchies to a certain extent. As Hoseok understood it, the Southern Kingdoms likewise relied on the Guild stationed with them for a great many things, but this was not so in the Icheon, and nobody had ever been able to explain to him if it was different in Pyeongchang.

 

The Guild at Icheon had eventually managed to retain its rights of communication, but it was limited and added even more strain to an already strained relationship.

 

Hoseok couldn’t help but resent his mentor at the Citadel for choosing to drop him into such a mess. He enjoyed his friends in the Guild, but even they could not assuage the sense of isolation he had to contend with everyday. They all seemed perfectly fine, happy even if a bit disparaging of the Royals, and when he was with them the feeling of isolation went away, but only temporarily.

 

By the time they reached the foot of the mountain, the morning hours were coming to an end, and to everyone’s surprise including his own, it was the Guard who broke the silence, “Can you tell us why you specifically were the one selected for this expedition?”

 

Hoseok shrugged and tilted his chin up in a slight challenge, “Your guess is as good as mine. Like you, I only follow orders and don’t ask questions.”

 

Yoongi snorted and looked out the window, dismissing the challenge as if Hoseok was barely worth any notice, “I have plenty of questions, and I’m never afraid to ask them.”

 

The Warlock arched a brow, “That might be true, but do you always get your answers?”

 

For the first time, those black eyes met his own and he felt a chill run down his spine, “I do.”

 

The rest of the day’s travel passed in silence, and Hoseok tried his best to regain his footing. Even the Prince had given up on trying to pretend at any sense of camaraderie. He’d pulled out a book from somewhere and had been buried in it until the carriage stopped at an inn to change horses and drivers. They would be going through the night, every night. Hoseok pitied the drivers, who had been sent ahead on horseback and with extra horses in tow as soon as Citadel’s instructions had been accepted.

 

The prince extended his seat into a bunk that stretched out under the mirror, cutting Hoseok’s legroom in half, but he didn’t mind. The bigger problem lay elsewhere.

 

If he chose to extend is own seat, it would completely nullify Yoongi’s legroom essentially turn the inside of the carriage into one big bed, a bed that he would have to share with the surly creature glaring at him from the opposite seat.

 

He resigned himself to sleeping upright for the entirety of the trip.

 

———

 

On the third day, Hoseok couldn’t take it anymore. His legs had gone past cramping, and had become so numb it was like having two pieces of dead meat attached to him, and the tight knot in his stomach that he’d learned to live with over the years had turned into the heaviest stone on earth.

 

He’d never experienced such an acute sense of isolation before. The only communication that took place in the carriage was the silent kind between the Prince and the Guard, and occasionally a knock on the roof of the carriage that meant they could relieve themselves, wash in a stream and stretch their legs for twenty minutes at most.

 

The Prince didn’t seem to be very affected, which was probably because he could stretch out his legs after not bothering to collapse his bunk back into a chair again. Every now and again, he would peek over the top of his book and give Hoseok and the Guard reproaching looks, seeming to be quite annoyed by the blatant refusal to share any more space than they absolutely had to.

 

Hoseok’s resolve was thinning. He took some satisfaction in the fact that Yoongi didn’t seem to be handling the situation any better. He was constantly bouncing his knees and glaring out the window, and his silent communication with the Prince seemed to be getting more and more one-sided if the Prince’s growing irritation was any indication.

 

When next they were allowed to piss and walk around a bit, he pointedly yanked out his seat to convert it into a bunk and turned around to glare at Yoongi, who had stopped to observe what he was doing. Hoseok had not thought this far, and had no idea what to expect.

 

They stared each other down, until finally, “So much as a toe in my shin and you’re sitting with the driver.”

 

Hoseok tried and failed to hide his smile as he went about his business and walked a little trail in the thicket around the road.

 

They were nearing the border of Pyeongchang, and slowly the climate was warming just a little bit.

 

Soon enough, they were called back to the carriage and there was a bit of hesitance on both his and Yoongi’s part after the Prince’s pert posterior has disappeared into the carriage and the rather intimidating pile of furs heaped inside. He found himself yanked down to Yoongi’s eye-level by an iron grip on his collar before he could so much as blink.

 

“Listen to me well, Warlock, I know your kind like to keep yourself _other_ and _mysterious_ , but I know a fucking alpha when I smell one. I don’t think I need to warn you in exact words what would happen if you were to _act on your nature_. I don’t care how highly you think of your restraint, I’ve seen the most respectable alphas’ self-control snap like twigs around him.”

 

Hoseok hated being intimidated, and it made him impulsive, “Like yours did?”

 

Yoongi’s face cleared of all fury and malice, cleared of everything, until he was simply staring at Hoseok with a blank face, who felt like he was falling into the cold abyss of those black eyes. He was immobilised, struck mute but a heady mix of arousal and primal _fear_. It made him feel small and insignificant, and his most logical response was to revolt against it, but it seemed his instincts had more control, for instead of pushing and shoving and perhaps even freezing this alpha as he wanted to, he found himself panting and leaning into him instead.

 

The Guard’s face picked up a hint of a smirk, and with that, he opened the door to the carriage and hoisted himself in, leaving Hoseok out in the cold feeling like he needed to take it in with him just to survive.

 

———

 

Once they crossed the border on the fourth day, everything seemed to get more comfortable, if a lot stranger.

 

His mind was completely occupied with everything that had been revealed to him the day before. He lingered most on the fact that the other alpha was aware of his caste, which had never happened before. One of the first things taught to novice warlocks was how to mask their scent so their caste remained hidden. The reasoning being that the world’s perception of the Citadel as a neutral force was furthered by its subjects appearing to be completely neutral as well. Had he slipped up? And if he had, it posed the question of just how it was possible to forget something that by now was as natural as breathing. Or there was some other explanation, perhaps the guard or the Prince had abilities beyond the obvious that he was not aware of.

 

As for what else had taken place, he decided to ignore it for now, justifying it to himself by saying it didn’t matter and would never happen again and so was not worth the mental energy, when in actual fact he was nearly catatonic with fear. Even though Warlocks were supposedly far removed form the dynamics between castes, the Citadel could not possibly remove every aspect of the ‘outside’ society, and even among the senior warlocks a certain perception regarding the castes remained, though they viewed themselves as exempt from it. As such, being aroused through the belittling from another alpha had him at war with himself, gods damn it all, being aroused at all by another alpha had him flinching from the memory and fixating instead on how the Guard had known his caste and the almost explicit confirmation of the relationship between he Prince and his guard.

 

Under the furs, Hoseok found himself laying there as stiff as a board, so afraid to move and accidentally touch Yoongi and spark another bout of whatever it was that had happened the day before. There was ample space, so his discomfort was mostly for naught, and once he fell asleep and woke only to find himself cuddled up to the smaller alpha’s back whilst the other was awake with no obvious backlash, he decided to give up on trying to figure everything out and simply let himself be.

 

It was not only things inside the carriage that was getting increasingly strange.

 

Outside, the constantly moving landscape was changing, from a blur of green, white and brown, to a whole myriad of brilliant colours. There wast still a dusting of white snow on everything, but the trees had leaves ranging from red and yellow to purple, pink and even blue. The trees were also different shapes, twisting and twining instead of shooting straight up.

 

Not only was the flora vastly different, but so was the fauna. Jewel-coloured birds flitted about and filled the air with cheerful song, thickly furred little critters went to and fro, and large, snow-white deer stared at them from between the trees, massive antlers held aloft. It was not just that the animals _looked_ strange, but that they _behaved_ strangely. They were very bold, did not seem to fear the humans in their midst at all. Jimin could confirm this very thoroughly when a bright red little fox with three tails that had apparently jumped onto the roof crawled through the window and dropped into his lap to give him a thorough snuffling, and then simply stayed there.

 

Within the hour, the little fox had been named Sugar for the sprinkling of white on the tips of its ears and muzzle, and had become the Prince’s new favourite thing. Sugar was cuddled to his little heart’s content, fed scraps of fresh meat from the hunter’s bounty until his stomach was bulging, and then swayed to sleep in the Prince’s arms.

 

Hoseok couldn’t decide if he was jealous of Sugar or Prince Jimin, however his jealousy was somewhat switched out for smugness when night fell, and Sugar leapt right over Yoongi’s lap and into his own. He smiled serenely at the glaring alpha as he combed fingers through luscious fur.

 

The next morning, Hoseok woke to laughter. It was sweet and childlike, and he blearily lifted his head only to be shocked once again down to his bones by what was _supposed_ to be a perpetually bitter guard. Instead, he found a wide, gummy smile and he felt like his stomach was attempting to escape his abdomen,

 

He tried to be peeved that Sugar had apparently now accepted Yoongi, and was licking every bit of exposed skin, but rather had to hide his smile under some furs. It appeared that Jimin had realised that he was cuddling up with a fox under a mountainous pile of fox furs. Instead of pointing out that it did not seem to bother the animal, Yoongi chose to laugh at him and poke at his stomach until the Prince’s pout turned into what had to be the most adorable giggles Hoseok had ever heard.

 

He was left wondering if this meant that they were all becoming more comfortable with one-another, or if Yoongi and the Prince had been this carefree the whole time whenever he was asleep and this was simply the first time he awoke at the correct time to witness it.

 

———

 

On the morning of the seventh, in the far distance, they could see glimpses of reflected light through the dense cloud bank hovering on the horizon that could be nothing other than the Floating Palace.

 

Hoseok felt that the name was misleading. It should not have been named the Floating Palace, should have been named the _Enormous_ Floating Palace.

 

If the fact that it was literally floating was not surprise enough, the fact that it could be seen from several days' ride away and that the top was completely invisible for how far it reached into the sky seemed to be a nice topper to the architectural shock cake.

 

He felt as if all his introspection and agony from the past week was a tiny moth battering itself against the massive oil lamp that was the sight before him

 

The Prince could not contain his excitement, poking his head out the window to stare in awe every few minutes, only to be dragged in and saved form wayward branches by Yoongi, who himself seemed to be dealing with the colossus awaiting them by pretending it was just your average little countryside castle.

 

Mountains were commonplace because man had no hand in their making. But this was breathtaking, and Hoseok remembered the legends he’d read years ago about the origins of Pyeongchang’s Royal Seat.

 

For the first time since Hoseok was a scared little boy sleeping in the crook of his father’s arm, he believed in the power of the stars.

 

What on the meagre plane of man could have made something like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme tell ya, this was a fucking struggle to get out. I don't know why. I think it's because I don't really have a firm grasp of the type of character I want Hobi to be.
> 
> It's short too. 
> 
> Sorry about that kids.
> 
> Eh.
> 
> So, this chapter posed to me a question, and the only way I can put it to you without severely spoiling, my lovely readers, is this:
> 
> Quick and Temporary Yoonminseok with eventual Yoonminkook as endgoal,
> 
> OR
> 
> Quick and Temporary Yoonminseok with eventual Sope and Jikook as end goal?
> 
> Suggest other variations if ye want, but please gimme some feedback because I'm torn.


	6. Prince Seokjin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prince Seokjin is forced to travel with snobby courtiers until he snaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter happened when I was busy with other shit, but also for some reason was incredibly difficult to get out good lawd. So very late and very sorry and not beta-read and please enjoy.
> 
> Also wee bit of smut ahoy

Seokjin hated courtiers more than he hated anything else in the entire world.

 

They’d run out of any from of alcohol days ago, and by the glacial pace they were going, he estimated that he would have to go another week without it before they reached the Long Road and thus the nearest inn.

 

If he was lucky, that inn would also sell poison so he could rid himself of the massive headache that was his entourage.

 

The only people he could stand the sight of these days were the members of his Omega Guard, the hunting party and sometimes, though increasingly rarely, General Yi.

 

On the second day of the expedition, he’d been at the centre of a culture shock when he’d asked the hunters if he could join them. He knew how to hunt of course, was even excellent at it, and some of the hunters were familiar with him from accompanying himself and his father on the rare day they could spare for such an exercise. However, the Courtiers who’d bodily attached themselves to this venture hadn’t been aware of this fact and as such thought it appropriate that they voice their dismay at an omega joining such an alpha-oriented activity. Seokjin hadn’t been in the mood to put up his usual 'charmingly curious little omega’ act and had simply ignored their gaping faces in favour of donning his hunting leathers and leading the march of hunters out of the camp. None of them seemed to realise that the rabbit stew they all enjoyed so much that evening was almost entirely due to his success during the hunt.

 

On the third day, he’d scandalised a gaggle of omegas when they’d come upon him bathing in a stream instead of having his attendants spend half the day lugging water to his tent for a bath. He’d stared back at them without pausing in the act of scrubbing his feet. They seemed even more taken up by the fact that he didn’t react at all to their alpha-guards seeng him naked. He didn’t feel at all guilty for ruining their scenic route with his nude and sublime self, and it was not like the guards had seen anything below the waist in the murky water anyway. He took some satisfaction in the surge of arousal he felt from them as his own act of pettiness, and commended them for how well they were able to hide it.

 

On the fourth day, he’d nearly caused a riot when he’d suggested they try to move on to the next campsite before noon. He’d thought himself pampered, but his attendants had never had to struggle for three hours to rouse him from his bed, and he’d never been quite so specific in his demands for breakfast, and he’d never drunk quite so much before bed to be quite so hungover the next morning. On that same day, he’d heard several gasps when he decided to jump in and help break up camp instead of sitting on his arse and waiting for things to be done. The wide smiles on the faces of the attendants far outweighed the vindictive whisperings taking place behind his back and seeping into his mind.

 

On the fifth day, on the morning after the wine had run out, he decided to leave the camp at dawn and come back just as the whole caboodle was ready to leave. He kept his horse in the very lead, sometimes even straying air enough ahead that General Yi chased him down to admonish him. He was getting increasingly desperate to avoid the sickening whirlpool of their discontented emotions. He could feel it like an oppressive force, squeezing his skull and his heart. He repeated the process for the next five days, and deemed it so effective at completely avoiding the trail of morons dragging behind him that he resolved to stick to it for the rest of the expedition.

 

However, on the fourteenth day, his patience at their continuously slow pace was wavering so thin, that he was considering rallying his omega guard and two of the hunters to ride ahead.

 

He was well ahead of the troupe, nearly out of sight, and the temptation to just gallop on ahead in an effort to force his entourage to move faster in order not to lose their prince was tantalising. It would be his fourteenth scandal since the beginning of this trip, and he was starting to grow ever more despondent at the increasing bitterness he could feel wafting up behind him. The omegas were either jealous of his heard-earned freedom, or disgusted by his bold nature and the means by which he achieved said freedom. The alphas either wanted to fuck the boldness out of him, or wanted him as some sort of deviant stress relief on top of having the wholesome, perfect omega at home.

 

He had never hated his ability as much as he did then, had never wanted to live alone in the countryside quite as much as he did then.

 

He heard another horse coming up behind him and sighed, “I'm not going to run off, General, I promise.”

 

“To be perfectly frank, if that cow Jihe comments on my riding skills again I might just go with you.”

 

Seokjin chuckled and turned his head to enjoy the sight of the General nearly slumped over in the saddle, looking like a cat that had been held under a water pump by the scruff of its neck. He rarely savoured such negative emotions from others, but the moroseness the General was practically beaming to the skies amused him more than anything, “Jiheis unmarried, rich, slightly more intelligent than a doorknob, and pretty. What else could you possible look for in a mate?”

 

The General looked at him askance, “Wider shoulders, thighs strong enough to twist my head off, a baritone, chest hair and oh yes, a hot, throbbing knot that I can choke on.”

 

Seokjin laughed so hard and for so long he went red in the face, tipping forward to pant into his horse’s mane when he became desperate for air.

———

 

Seokjin’s frustration reached its peak on the afternoon they finally reached the crossing of Busang Road and the Long Road. He desperately wanted to push on to cover the last little bit of distance to the inn, but his insistence were drowned out by the wailing of omegas complaining of hunger and alphas grunting about saddle soars. He’d groaned loud enough to garner some stares and stomped off into the thicket, doing his best to ignore the rising guilt at leaving his attendants to take care of his tent and belongings. Boyeon did his duty by following him, but was smart enough to do so at a distance.

 

As the long road ran parallel to a river, he decided to occupy his time with a quick wash. He left his clothes in a neat pile on a dry rock and waded in, careful to avoid the middle where the stream was the strongest. He was lucky to find a little pool of sorts where the water churned over big rocks and massaged his tired body. Though the water was chilly, he found himself lingering there, letting his thoughts wander.

 

Seokjin wondered idly what the Prince of Gunsan was like. Odds were he would be the one Seokjin would be expected to marry, even with the age difference. They were equal in standing and it could strengthen ties between the neighbouring kingdoms. Was he handsome? Would he let Seokjin be himself, or expect him to become demure and submissive once they were married? Would they have anything in common? Seokjin was older than him, and he wondered if that would be a point of contention.

 

As he felt the most relaxed yet drained he could remember himself feeling, he reminded himself that the boy’s father had just died, and marriage was probably the last thing on his mind. He sighed and and idly observed some colourful fish, his lack of movement making them complacent enough as to be curious. The boy wouldn’t even have to think about marriage until he was thirty because he was an alpha, but Seokjin was already considered old for an unmarried omega.

 

 

———

 

The next morning Seokjin awoke with the birds and with a plan.

 

General Yi, with his hair sticking up every which way and with nary a stitch of clothing, only put up a token protest before he relented and lumbered back into his tent to get dressed.

 

The entourage was delaying his arrival at what could be the most important gathering in centuries. Technically speaking, they hadn’t even been invited. The territory they would soon be travelling through was far colder than anything they were used to or equipped for, etcetera etcetera.

 

It was only a matter of giving the servants their orders and rudely waking up everyone by banging together pots and pans in the middle of camp. As they all came rushing out like scurrying rats to converge around the central fire, he informed them without any preamble that he was leaving them behind. He gave them his reasons and did not wait for any sort of response before he was mounted on his horse, saddled and ready for him solely due to the perfect efficiency of his attendants.

 

His travelling party was cut down to himself, General Yi, their valets, two hunters and the entirety of his omega guard with an additional three alpha guards, the navigator and one carriage that would serve as his sleeping quarters by night and transportation of all camping equipment, luggage and food during the day.

 

They even enlisted the help of two of the six pack mules who had been dragging the luggage carts should the terrain become insurmountable for the carriage. Seokjin felt quite endeared to the creatures. Their placid but stubborn natures were like a balm compared to the complex vortex of human emotion that bombarded him day in and day out.

 

He started the count of days on their excursion from one again, and felt a newly restored sense of purpose.

 

They made such good time without the courtiers that they reached the Long Road Inn before midday on the same day that the party had split, and Seokjin felt confident enough that instead of the giving the order to tuck in for the night, they simply replenished their stock of food and other such things and continued to make their way.

 

On the fifth day, finally inside the border of Pyeongchang the world around them really started to change. Seokjin had never seen so many jewel tones in one place, and he was a Prince! The wildlife went from slightly different to completely foreign, and it left the hunters completely bewildered.

 

Seokjin did his best to hold onto his optimism, but everyday felt more and more like a fever dream. The world around them got stranger, colder and in the distance, the mountain loomed.

 

The seventh day brought a reprieve from the increasing strangeness. The reached the Mountain Foot Inn, and it was normal in every aspect, right down to suffering from the curse of completely uncreative namesthat all inns seemed to suffer from. Not only were the innkeepers kind, they seemed to recognise that he was a man of status, and thus offered him their best room and, mercy of mercies, it had a bath.

 

He nearly squealed with joy at the sight of the claw-footed brass thing taking up too much space in the middle of the room. He was in such a rush to enjoy it that he made more trips up and down the stairs with bucket of water than his attendants did. They didn’t bother to hide their laughter as he passed them by, sloshing water on himself and not caring one bit.

 

Soon enough, he was reclining in water hot enough to make his skin match his hair. He felt like one massive tangle of taut ropes coming undone, and became so relaxed that he was sure his bones had turned to liquid. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

 

Something drew his attention, something from the edge of his awareness becoming more prominent the more he focused on it. Somewhere in the inn, a couple was being rather amorous. it was a pleasant change. He’d been surprised when the first week of the expedition had passed with barely any hint of the familiar emotive strains of arousal. He supposed the copious amount of wine the courtiers consumed made fucking rather improbable.

 

He sighed and sunk deeper into the bath, closed his eyes and centred himself. He wanted to use this as an opportunity to hone his skills. Surprisingly, the single point he was drawn to was outside, in what he surmised to be the stable. He grinned to himself and lost focus for a bit. Either one of the few alphas(all mated and thus less of a risk) on his personal guard were straying, or two stablehands were making quite an adorable romantic connection.

 

He focused once again and tried to find more detail, determined to find the limits of his ability and then to push it as much as he could.

 

The pairing certainly consisted of an alpha and an omega, unsurprising, but what did actually surprise him was that it seemed the alpha was taking more pleasure from _giving_ than taking, something he’d seldom encountered in stories and from snatches of sex-related emotions he’d catch around the castle.

 

What caught him by surprise the most, however, was the sheer and unadulterated love he felt from the pair. They were the centres of each other’s awareness, and they were completely lost in the haze of love and lust.

 

He found himself doing something he almost never did. He let them in.

 

One if the first things Seokjin learned when he started training with the warlocks to master his ability was to shield himself from the feelings of others so as not to be completely overwhelmed. After quite a few mishaps that left him shivering and curled up in his room from emotions not his own, his first priority became cordoning himself off. He spent so much time perfecting his mental walls that it became instinctive, and the conscious effort switched from keeping people out to letting people in. The only person he had ever trusted enough to expose his heart to had been his appa.

 

And so, as soon as he dropped his shields, being very careful only to let in the honey-thick lust from the cavorting couple, he was flooded in it. He gasped in a shaky breath and felt his body reacting, positively thrumming with arousal. A delicious tightening of the muscles in his cunt had him stifling a moan. He was tempted to reach down and meet the need growing there, but by now he knew his body and he knew that letting the sensation build would only make the end so much more rewarding.

 

He pressed his thighs together and ran his palms roughly over his chest and arched into the sensation with a quiet little huff of breath. He used to the sharp fingernail of his pinky to press into his nipple, relishing the little sting. He tuned back into what was happening outside the inn, and submerged himself in the feelings coursing through the omega, who was steadily approaching what would be a very satisfying orgasm. It heightened everything for Seokjin, and he decided to try and synchronise his own orgasm with that of the unknown omega.

 

He hitched his leg onto the rim of his tub and finally reached down, running nimble fingers over his folds and circling them around his engorged cocklet, stroking his palm over it as he’d done with his chest. His middle and ring fingers he pressed inside of himself with a high-pitched moan, heightened by the movement of water around them.

 

The omega was right at his peak, so Seokjin crooked his fingers in a come-hither motion, rapidly pushing and stroking the almost spongey front wall of his quim until, right on time with his mental neighbour, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he came.

 

He revelled in the almost dizzy sensation for a while, feeling returning to his legs and his bathwater cooling. He hefted himself out and absentmindedly dried himself, half of his attention still focused on the objects of his empathic voyeurism. They were curled up together, the haze of lust gone and naught but an almost lazy contentment and adoration remaining. Abruptly, he slammed his walls up again and dropped into his bed, only half-dry. He felt empty and alone, and regretted what he’d done for how exposed it had left him.

 

Despite the little setback, the next day found him back on his horse and still somewhat refreshed.

 

Their trek started to take a notable upward slant, and everyone pulled on the furs that had been travelling with them all the while without seeing any use.

 

Seokjin quickly grew frustrated with his burning cheeks and ears, but was grateful that his attendants had been wise in packing not only the appropriate clothing for proceedings in the foreign court, but thick woollen trousers and shirts to keep him warm on the way there.

 

Meat became somewhat harder to obtain, not only because prey became scarcer and seemingly smarter, but also because they had entered the perpetual cloud bank that covered the mountain, and as such visibility for hunting was dismal. When and if the hunters were lucky enough to track down game, it was almost impossible to kill and hardly ever really worth it. Berries and honey were however abundant, though everyone in the party grew so sick of it that even lean and tough meat became a King’s meal whenever it was available.

 

The road started to weave in a sort of back-and-forth sideways pattern and became somewhat treacherous, which Seokjin guessed was to make it easier to get up the mountain without having to face the increasingly steep incline.

 

Aside from being depressed and anxious for what was to come, Seokjin also found himself bored out of his wits. Furs and food had taken priority over any sort of entertainment, and he was starting to regret not even packing a puzzle box or reading material.

 

Their party travelled in silence aside form the occasional cry of caution when they encountered hazards. The only thing Seokjin could think to be grateful for was that everyone’s emotions seemed to be just as muted as their voices.

 

On the fourteenth day, they were hailed by a troupe of what looked like Royal guards.

 

 

General Yi and his alphas rode forth to meet them, and came back with what for him passed as a smile, “They've come to escort us the rest of the way.”

 

Seokjin blurted the thing that had been at the forefront of his mind since he’d seen the blurry flag through the fog, “Do they have food?”

 

General Yi snorted, “They probably do, I didn’t think to ask. I did however ask how much longer the journey is and they said we’d be in warm beds by tonight. Does that appease you, your Majesty?”

 

Seokjin glared to hide the relief washing through his sore body, “How could you not think to ask if they have food, are you not a human being with basic needs?”

 

General Yo rolled his eyes and turned his horse around to catch up to their welcoming party, “I’ve as much love for a hot plate of food as the next fellow, but your complete infatuation with everything edible is more than what the rations of a mere welcoming party can conceive of.”

 

Seokjin clicked his tongue to get his horse moving and sighed morosely, “Forgive me for my sacred knowledge that food is the only thing making existence bearable.”

 

General Yi leaned over with a devilish grin and whispered in Seokjin’s ear, “Now isn’t that exactly what a virgin would say?”

 

Seokjin gasped and made such a loud fuss for the rest of the way up the mountain that by the time the palace gates came into view, everyone besides him in the party were rubbing their ears.

 

He counted this as a victory, but it was short-lived.

 

At first, he had no idea what he was looking at. Massive pillars stretched into the grey sky, held up by what looked like thin air, but when they got closer and something _shifted_ , Seokjin realised that it was not thin air at all but _glass_ , something he’d only heard of and seen tiny examples of. Never in his wildest daydreams had be imagined it applied in such a way and to such a magnitude. The massive, towering gates were pulled open by some unseen force, warping their vision of what lay beyond. When they passed through the gates, he could see just how thick the walls were as well, easily that of five men standing shoulder to shoulder. His own awe and amazement were only outweighed by that of his party collectively, whom he did not need to look at to know that their eyes were bugging out of their heads just as his were. He even sensed a measure of skittishness from the animals, whether this was from unfamiliar surroundings or a reaction to the shifting emotions of their keepers, he had no idea.

 

They were led through, and if the mere gates were no enough to strike him dumb, then what he saw hovering in the sky above him surely was.

 

It seemed that passing through the gate lifted some enchantment or rendered some new perspective through smart angles and whatnot, for what had been hiding behind a towering old giant of clouds was the biggest structure he’d ever seen.

 

And it was _floating_.

 

Seokjin supposed he should have expected that, after all it was in the name, but he’d assumed that it was referring to some fantastic architectural marvel or feat of engineering, not a _literal floating building_.

 

The only thing connecting the palace and the top of the mountain(which, was in actual fact much lower than it looked from miles away, and was actually the site for the city of Pyeongchang) was a latticework of beautiful arches, chains and moving platforms. They were led through the bustling city, following along the cobble-stoned main street where people came out of shops and houses to gawp at them, these tired looking, bedraggled travellers from far far away.

 

They reached the heart of the city, and it wasn’t a temple or a hall of justice as it would have been anywhere else, but a stairway to the heavens. When the entire party, animals and all, was ushered onto platform that was essentially a giant, rectangular glass bowl, he realised that it all made up an elaborate pully-system that allowed for up-an-down movement. Seokjin’s stomach and horse revolted when they suddenly jolted upwards. The wind was rushing in his ears and the fear of his companions was rushing in his mind. He did what he could to calm this horse down, leaning forward over its neck to murmur in soothing tones into its ear. It didn’t seem to be very effective, but it kept the creature from kicking anyone in the face or jumping overboard, and when the platform came to a neat stop inside a massive cavernous hall, he counted it as another victory in his favour.

 

After the near deafening roar of the wind, the sudden silence was jarring. They all stood there for a moment in a futile attempt to collect themselves. When his hands stopped shaking, Seokjin decided he could slide out of the saddle without his knees buckling and smacking his skull on the glass floor. He very, very carefully did not look down through that glass, as he didn’t want to ruin the accomplishment of standing on his own two feet just yet. He felt them before he saw them. Curiosity, and to his surprise, delight. He looked around and there, on a dais that led to a massive glass(He sensed that this would be a recurring theme) door, which was standing open, was a group of people.

 

Seokjin straightened himself out and lifted his chin, he felt the urge to pat down his clothes, but did not want to give the impression of feeling flustered. Which he was, yes, but they did not have to know. He waited for the gate on the side of the platform to be opened and for General Yi to join him before he made his way over to the foot of the steps they were standing on. He didn’t have to look behind him to know that everyone in the party sans the hunters were lining up into neat rows behind him, for it had been something they’d practised before leaving home and he knew his omegas and Generals Yi’s guards were impeccable.

 

When he stood before the Royal Family of Pyeongchang, he tilted his chin down in the royal approximation of a bow and heard the rustling of the rest of his entourage going down in a fun bow. It felt like standing in a nice patch of sun after a long day in a chilly court chamber, or like a waft of the first spring flowers when your cheeks were still red with cold. When he could look up again, he let his eyes take in all the details, and felt just a little very much stunned. By the northern custom, the Queen was the ruler and his alpha the Queen’s Consort. This was something he’d been aware of and prepared for. But what nobody had told him was just how beautiful these people would be, and he was Prince Seokjin, flower of the South.

 

Despite living in colder half of Korea, they were all quite dark of skin, which made the Queen’s bright blue eyes all the more striking. His snow white hair was braided intricately around a silver crown, and he was dressed in silk robes of light, shimmery cool colours. His smile was sincere, “Welcome, Prince Seokjin, to Pyeongchang. I am Queen Taehee.” He grinned and lifted the hand of his alpha that he’d been holding the whole time, “This is my alpha and consort, Hyunsoo.” The alpha in question tipped his head forward as Seokjin had done before, also smiling. He was dressed a little differently, in breeches and a beautifully embroidered jerkin under a cloak made from the same fabric as the Queen’s robes. The Queen continued, “And this is my son and Heir, Prince Taehyung.”

 

The son was just as if not more striking than his eomma. Instead of braids, the omega wore his long white hair down, where it swayed well past his hips. He was dressed much the same as the Queen, and his expression was the same too. His eyes, instead of being blue, were violet, and they had a sleepy quality to them.

 

Seokjin couldn’t recall being smiled at so much and with such sincerity in his entire life. Never before had he been so invigorated by the emotions of complete strangers, and he didn’t know if he should be even more on his guard because of it, or if this was a sign of good things to come.

 

He smiled despite himself and followed them through the glass doors.


	7. Min Yoongi, Alpha.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoongi tries to savour Jimin while the Prince is still his to savour, and Jimin meets Prince Taehyung.

The very second Yoongi laid eyes on King Jeongguk, he knew he despised him.

 

The little alpha, barely more than a boy, was sickly looking and silent. He was practically propped up on the shoulders of his servant and regent, staring off into space and only nodding and bowing when prompted. The Regent, a rather tall alpha with cat-like eyes, made the excuse of an ailment picked up along the road.

 

Queen Taehee tutted like only an eomeoni would and insisted that the healers of Pyeongchang was at their disposal.

 

The first time in centuries that Royals from all four of the kingdoms came together, and it had to be cut short because one of them needed their nap-time. Yoongi was proud of himself for not rolling his eyes at the whole ordeal, he really was. Gods, even the omega Prince from Busan behaved more like an alpha than this pale little brat.

 

Now _he_ was an odd one. Yoongi couldn’t recall ever having been so bewildered in his life. From his little knowledge of the Southern Kingdoms, he knew omegas to be subservient to alphas, and that they rarely occupied positions of power. By all accounts, the Flower of the South should have been a demure, giggling and delicately ignorant little thing. Instead, the Prince was nearly as tall as the Gunsan Regent, had broad shoulders and was observing the room with a sharp eye. His face gave absolutely nothing away of his true feelings. He was lounging on one of the plush armchairs arranged about the room and managed to make it look regal. So far, Yoongi had only been in his presence twice, when he and Jimin arrived, and when Jimin had invited him to have tea. Both times, Yoongi felt the cold shiver at the base of his spine, the sensation that usually meant he was being observed. It confused him, because the Prince himself hardly spared Yoongi so much as a glance.

 

And he had _pink_ hair. How on earth was that even _possible_?

 

There was another thing that had Yoongi on the back foot. He’d been expecting these proceedings, whatever they may be, to take place in a large room with a long table and too many chairs, but they were currently in what could only be described as a sitting room, with a fireplace and comfortable furniture. He was somewhat awkwardly standing behind the couch Jimin was seated on and trying to figure out whether there was some unspoken invitation to sit down or if he should have been stationed at the door. Across from him, behind the Little King’s shoulder, he could see his struggle reflected in the stiff posture of the royal guard from Gunsan. He took some comfort from that fact.

 

He gave up on suppressing his annoyance when the Queen called the gathering to an end due to the obviously unhealthy Child King who looked like he might keel over any moment.

 

As he followed Jimin back to their rooms, he felt his mind filling up with a red haze. He’d long known that he would one day have to relent any rights he had to Jimin aside from that of protecting him, and had to some extent made peace with it and had tried to prepare himself.

 

By royal logic, King Jeongguk was the obvious candidate for Jimin’s hand in marriage. It would not be a traditional marriage by any means, and in fact there would probably have to be some lengthy negotiation on heirs and territories, but it would be very beneficial for both Kingdoms in many ways. Trade negotiations would ensure prosperity for decades to come, and both royal families could use the fresh blood.

 

Would Yoongi have to stand in the shadow of an altar listening to insincere vows that would have meant the world had they fallen from his own lips instead? Would he have to stand guard at the door to their bedchamber listening to what would no doubt be passionless, mechanical fucking? Would this baby alpha even bother to try and learn the ways of Jimin’s body, try to find and master all the ways in which he could be made to sing out his pleasure?

 

The air around them got colder, and Jimin shot him a questioning glance over his shoulder. Yoongi shook his head and tried to reign in his ability, pulling it inside himself and feeling it sink into heat low in his gut. For the time being, Jimin was still his to pleasure and tease with hands, lips and tongue, and he would take advantage of that while he still could. He would make Jimin not only sing, but _scream_.

 

As soon as they were in the relative privacy of their glass sphere of a room, he pulled Jimin back against him and shoved his face into his neck to scent him, his voice rough and deep, “Jiminnie.”

 

That tight body curved back into his without hesitation, Jimin throwing his head back onto his shoulder with a high moan. He guided Yoongi’s hands to the fastenings of his jerkin, all the while grinding his hips in little circles onto the alpha’s crotch, “Are you going to fuck me?”

 

With hands working at Jimin’s breeches, Yoongi urged him forward with his body, towards the fainting couch at the edge of the glass dome that made up the windows and ceiling of their room. The dome consisted of hundreds of little honeycomb planes of the wondrous material, and it made bathed the room in light during all hours of the day before nightfall, a stark difference to the dark and cold rooms at Icheon palace.

 

Once the Prince’s knees bumped into the couch, Yoongi spun him around to let him fall onto his rump onto the couch. He went to his knees and had the breath squeezed out of him by those thick thighs.

 

Finally he could get at Jimin’s mouth and he had to restrain himself from not gnawing on them like he wanted to. He pulled lightly at a plush lower lip with his teeth and swallowed the moan it brought forth. He pushed his hands under Jimin's shirts and held his waist in his hands, felt flesh and muscle glide beneath his rough palms. He undid the rest of the fastenings on his jerkin and pushed it off his shoulders, simply pushing up the linen undershirt to get at his skin.

 

Jimin shivered at the touch and brought his hands up to tangle through Yoongi’s hair. With certainty born of having done this hundreds of times before, he guided Yoongi’s head down to his chest. Yoongi knew without having to be instructed to push fabric out of the way and to latch on with gently suckling that would eventually become almost rough tugging.

 

He pulled Jimin’s bottom off the couch whilst simultaneously pushing him back onto it, so that the was lying back and Yoongi could keep his mouth where it ought to be. It also allowed him to tug down his breeches until he had no choice but to detach if he wanted to take them off. He got an angry tug on his hair for doing so, but seeing Jimin spread out in nothing but an undershirt pushed into his armpits would be well worth it. He grunted in triumph when he finally got the things off, only to growl at the sight of yet another barrier.

 

“Of all the days to be wearing small clothes, Jimin, of all the days.”

 

Jimin giggled and smacked the back of Yoongi’s head, “Today of all days was exactly the day not to go without, which I’m certain you’d realise if you thought about it hard enough.”

 

Yoongi stared up at him, and without dropping his gaze, he took hold of the light blue silk obstructing his way on either side of Jimin’s hips, especially imported from the rich textiles of Busan, and tore them apart and down his legs.

 

Jimin yelled in affront and promptly wrapped his thighs around Yoongi’s head, squeezing hard enough to make him worry for a very brief moment if he would survive the ordeal, “I only have so many, you brute! You are going to be sure to either replace those with ones that look and feel exactly the same or sow them back together! If you don’t, so help me, I’ll start wearing yours!”

 

As soon as Yoongi was allowed to breathe again, he grinned impishly up at Jimin and said, “All the more reason to burn them all, Your Majesty.”

 

The Prince gave him a flat stare,”Keep this up and the next time I close my knees will be the time I close them for good.”

 

Yoongi quirked a brow and craned his neck to lay a chest kiss on the mound at the apex of Jimin’s thighs, soft white curls tickling his lips, “And have me never taste this peach again?”

 

Jimin wrinkled his nose, “Please stop using fruit in reference to my quim.”

 

“Why? Both are sweet and wet with nectar-”

 

Jimin smacked his head again, this time hard enough that he shook out his little hand with a whimper. He scowled, “Should I start referring to your cock as an icicle then? How about a palm knife?”

 

Yoongi relented with a chuckle and leaned over Jimin’s body to kiss him again, “I'll stop, but feel free to call my cock whatever you like, though you and I both know it wouldn’t be a palm knife.” He took care to grind said un-palm-knife-like cock against the wet seam of him.

 

Jimin somehow accomplished rolling his eyes and whining at the same time, and dug blunt fingernails into Yoongi’s shoulders.

 

The sting of it reminded Yoongi of the reason for his sudden need, and he ultimately felt his control snap and sunk his teeth into Jimin’s lower lips, heedless of the consequences. He growled and worked a line of wet bruises from the joint of his jaw down to his sharp clavicles.

 

Without thinking much of it, he drew on an ability of his that only two people on earth knew about, his eomeoni and the person writhing beneath him, though the former wasn’t aware of just how much he’d refined his skills.

 

With the tip of his index finger, he pressed lightly on one steadily reddening nipple while his mouth was busy with the other. He concentrated, careful to differentiate his intent, and within moments Jimin was convulsing, so overcome by the pleasure Yoongi induced with one simple touch that he couldn’t even vocalise it. Yoongi flattened his hands over the sides of Jimin’s ribcage and stroked down to his hips, all the while releasing little shocks of pleasure from his palms, which prompted high-pitched little cries. He moved his hands to Jimin’s rump, hanging off the edge of the fainting couch, and abruptly changed his intent from pleasure to pain, just enough to have Jimin’s jerking in his grip and gasping, tears running down into his hair.

 

Once he’d determined that Jimin was good and overwhelmed, Yoongi gentled him with kisses up his thighs and hips, sucking little bruises as he went. Jimin’s breathing calmed down to a suitable level once again, and Yoongi repeated the whole process with an uptick in intensity.

 

He had to pin Jimin’s hands to the couch from how hard he was pulling at his hair, and used his tongue to incite pleasure instead.

 

He very rarely used this ability of his, as it left both himself and Jimin utterly exhausted afterward, but at times, when the threat of the future loomed, he felt the need to ingrain himself in Jimin’s skin, invisible to all but them.

 

When Jimin’s thighs were trembling and his voice was hoarse, Yoongi finally let him succumb to the pleasure. He buried his head between powerful thighs and pressed the flat of his tongue against that red little nub, pouring forth an amalgamation of pain and pleasure and even, if possible, adoration. Jimin cried out louder than he had during the entire session, despite his abused throat, and wetness dripped down Yoongi's chin and throat.

 

He pulled off quickly to avoid causing unintentional pain to everywhere Jimin was no doubt oversensitive and finally, f _inally_ reached down to relieve the burning ache between his own legs. He roughly pushed his breeches down, just far enough down his thighs so he could tug at his cock unimpeded. He whimpered and dropped his head onto Jimin’s thigh, panting into his skin as he frantically worked to relieve the ache.

 

He felt shaky fingers in his hair and tilted his head to look up at Jimin, startled to see determination there.

 

“In me.”

Yoongi stopped the movement of his hand and frowned, “But you’re-”

 

“I don’t care. I need you inside me. I need to feel your knot.”

 

Yoongi wanted to protest some more, but Jimin’s heaving chest and his own need urged him on. He positioned himself and kept his eyes on Jimin’s. He stroked the head of his cock along soaked folds and pressed just inside to whimpers from them both, almost acting as a placeholder while he took limp thighs in his hands and slowly eased inside.

 

As always, the feeling was indescribable. Whenever he actually took the time to try and put the experience into coherent thoughts, he couldn’t help but conclude that surely Jimin possessed the same power he did. Surely, nothing but some power from beyond could render him speechless, could have waves of pleasure pulsing from one single point to the rest of his body, could numb his toes and fingers and could white out his vision.

 

His hips moved of their own volition, and he almost mindlessly leant up to join their lips.

 

It was less a kiss as much as it was a sharing of breath, and he wrapped his arms around Jimin’s middle to keep him as close as he could, and Jimin’s arms wrapped similarly around his neck.

 

Within moments, his knot has swelled to capacity, and Jimin’s muscles clamped down on him.

 

As one they cried out their final pleasure and stilled, trembling together. Occasionally, Yoongi’s hips gave a little jerk and they both gasped again.

 

By the time the sweat on their skin had cooled and Yoongi’s aching knees made themselves known, Jimin was able to speak again, and he was not much pleased.

 

“You really should have thought this through a little better.”

 

Yoongi snorted and shifted a little, gaining a growl and a smack to his shoulder, “You had no objections. And besides, _you_ were the one who wanted me to knot you.”

 

“Of course I had no objections. You were using that wicked little trick of yours, how could I not? You should have figured out the logistics a little better, knowing you were going to do my head in like that.”

 

“Well I apologise then.”

 

Jimin lifted his head and glared down at their joined hips, “Is it going down anytime soon?”

 

Yoongi shifted his hips a little and again they both groaned, “I think not.”

 

Jimin huffed, “Well I’m not lying here with couch decorations digging into my back for the foreseeable future. Your knees can’t be faring very well either. Please find a way to move us.”

 

Yoongi nodded and looked around them, seeking out any possible solutions. His eyes landed on the window beside them and he sucked in a shocked breath, "Jiminnie, look.”

 

Jimin turned his head and his eyes widened almost comically, "By the Gods.”

 

The glass dome, made of interlocking, honeycomb-shaped plates of glass that acted as the outer wall of their room and most rooms in the Floating Palace, was completely frozen. The layer of fog that they had no doubt caused with their shenanigans had frozen over, and were warping the view of the clouds beyond into fractured shapes.

 

Jimin grinned and grabbed Yoongi's wrist, "It must be from out power. We…," his smile dropped, "lost control.”

 

Yoongi shuddered, the very dangerous implications of this fact causing goosebumps to break out on his skin.

 

Jimin went to bite his bruised lip and thought better of it with a grimace, “Alright. We'll consider the full implications of this later, perhaps even consult a warlock. Surely this has happened to others before. For now, we need to move and rest.”

 

Yoongi nodded for lack of anything better to do, and turned his mind back to the problem at hand. There was only one solution, “Wrap your legs around me, tight as you can.”

 

Jimin did as instructed, Yoongi wrapped his arms around his waist, carefully manoeuvred his feet under him and then heaved himself into a standing position with a grunt.

 

Despite trying to maintain his facade of displeasure, Jimin squealed out a giggle and pecked Yoongi’s nose once they were upright, “So strong.”

 

With careful steps and one bump into a low table, Yoongi managed get them onto the plush bed and a lot more comfortable on their sides.

He tucked his head into Jimin’s neck and simply breathed him in, soothed by the hand Jimin was stroking up and down his back, and his sated, sleepy scent. The drain on his power from their little extra-curricular play had him dropping off within minutes.

 

———

 

When he came to, his eyes were nearly glued shut and he was even more tangled up with Jimin than he’d been when he fell asleep, though thankfully his knot had subsided. It left behind a rather sticky and unpleasant mess where they were pressed up against each other. He wrinkled his nose and got up to retrieve something to clean them with.

 

He found a pile of neatly folded linen towels by the washbasin. The water was cool, but given their abilities it would not make a difference. As he wrung out the wet cloth, he thought about how Jimin had been bothered much less about the cold since they’d arrived here. He found it odd, as cold wasn’t something Jimin should have been bothered by in the first place, and though this palace wasn’t of stone and cold droughts as the one in Icheon, it was still in the north despite being bathed in sunlight everyday.

 

He shrugged to himself sleepily and ambled back over to the bed, where he found to grey eyes observing him.

 

Jimin had turned over onto his back, his legs splayed open unselfconsciously. Yoongi kneeled between them to carefully clean him. When he was done, he simply tossed the cloth over the side of the bed and snuggled into Jimin’s side.

 

The sun had hit the the point in the sky where it refracted over the honeycomb grid of their domed room, and painted a kaleidoscope of colours across their skin.

 

He stared at the sight, slightly stunned.

 

This strange place had his gut tying itself into knots. The very structure was strange and the people even more so. But this place soothed Jimin, for some reason, and it gave him beautiful things like this moment. He swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat. Would these stolen, beautiful little moments be all he had of Jimin to keep for himself? Was this strange place the place he would have to say goodbye?

 

Something of his feelings but have shown on his face, for Jimin traced light fingers down his cheek and asked, “Why do you look so sad? Also, not that I do not enjoy a good ravishing, but usually our ravishings are not quite so spontaneous and not quite so…frantic. What has gotten into you?”

 

Yoongi ducked his head to hide his face. Most people perceived him as stone-faced, but most people weren’t Jimin, who could take one look at his face and know exactly what he was thinking. He didn’t want Jimin to know that he was starting to say goodbye, he didn’t want to place the burden on him.

 

He should have known he couldn’t hide something like that from Jimin, because his jaw was suddenly in a deceptively strong little grip and he was forced to meet stormy grey eyes, “I know what you are doing Min Yoongi, and I am telling you, nay, _ordering_ you that I will. Not. Have it. You are _not_ saying farewell just yet, not _ever_ if I have my way. I don’t care whose knot I have to sit on once a year to produce an heir, I don’t care if you feel some misguided sense of honour to stay out of the political farce my marriage will be. You are the one I have given my heart to, and you are the only one who can and will continue to fill me up like nobody else can. So stop being a martyr and go to sleep. Nothing ruins a good fuck like a morose bastard ruminating on things not yet to pass.”

 

Yoongi snorted but felt himself calm at the words, “Morose bastard? Hitting a bit close to home there, Minnie. You just described my entire family for the past ten generations.”

 

Jimin rolled his eyes and slung his arm across Yoongi’s waist, “Perhaps you should question why that is and how to change it. Now, I do believe I gave you an order.”

 

“Stop being a morose bastard and sleep, yes. I can do one of those things exceptionally well.”

 

———

 

The next morning, when Jimin got a good look at himself in the looking glass, he was so furious he puffed up like an angry kitten. He looked like he wanted to throw something at Yoongi, and so the guard made himself scarce and departed for his own room to get ready for the day.

 

He was very suspicious of the things the servants called _showers_ , but could admit that they certainly made his morning routine about a hundred times faster. The fact that the water was hot might have been what ultimately had won him over, as well as the abundance of very creative scenarios Jimin presented to him as soon as they were alone after seeing the things.

 

Soon enough, he was clean and dressed and leaning against the wall of Jimin’s room, watching him fret over how he would conceal the bruises purpling his neck and shoulders, muttering all the while about stupid, possessive alphas and their primitive ways.

 

None of the shirts he’d packed for the far more moderate climate of the Floating Palace had collars high enough to hide the patchwork of purple and red on his skin. He stomped his foot, “Damn you and your stupid teeth!” Jimin threw himself onto his bed and growled into a discarded pile of shirts.

 

Yoongi wanted to help, but he knew that as soon as he opened his mouth, he’d receive that storm cloud glare that Jimin was famous for. He fiddled with the leather straps of his bracers, and suddenly had an idea.

 

He slipped out of the room and into his own on the opposite side of their quarters, and went straight for the chest where he kept everything for his armour. He dug around a bit and made a tiny little ‘whoop' of victory when he found what he was looking for. He practically jogged back into the main bedroom and held his prize aloft, “I present to you a solution, my Prince!” He went dramatically to his knees and bowed his head.

 

Jimin lifted his head and frowned at what Yoongi held, “What on earth? Do I look like a horse in need of a harness to you?”

 

Yoongi lifted his head and frowned right back, “It's armour leather, you clump, but from what I’ve seen on that southern prince, you can pass it off as embellishment. It’ll not only make it harder for your head to be lopped off, but it will also hide my beautiful masterpiece.”

 

Jimin’s face didn’t change much, but he did reach out to run his fingers over the leather, supple and smooth, but strong, “You've been looking at Prince Seokjin enough to notice his _embellishments_? Should I be worried?”

 

If Yoongi rolled his eyes any harder, he was sure he’d do himself an injury, “Just shush and let me help you put this on. It requires a bit of skill.”

 

Jimin gave him a look, “I've worn armour before. You know this.”

 

“Yes, I am aware. But this is different. It’s more decorative than armour, we need to make it look…appealing?”

 

Jimin giggled at him, “Why is that a question? Is it because you’re acting like the knowledgeable one in this situation when your idea of making something look ‘appealing' is to make it black.”

 

Yoongi spluttered in offence, “That's because black makes everything look good! Why do you think our entire Royal Guard wears black?”

 

Jimin shrugged and stood from the bed, making his way over to the vanity where he sat down on the low stool, “Because it’s harder to see bloodstains on black?”

 

Yoongi automatically opened his mouth to refute that and paused, he grumbled and closed his mouth, stomping over to where Jimin was seated and trying to think up the best way to go about this.

 

———

 

 

Jimin sent Yoongi ahead to scout the way ahead to make sure the hallways were clear. He knew he’d have to face other people eventually, but for the moment he wanted to avoid it as long as possible with the leather contraption on his neck.

 

It wasn’t even that bad, he and Yoongi had managed to devise a way in which to wrap the leather straps around his neck to make it look deliberate and not like someone had failed at strangling him. They were looped over each other in a sort of latticework pattern, looking quite nice even if he had to say so himself. He’d chosen the rest of his attire carefully in order not to make the collar seem out of place. He wore dark leather breeches that he usually only reserved for riding, but were embroidered with silver thread along the outer thighs and hips to make them more formal, with a billowy silk blouse in dark grey silk tucked into it. He chose to forgo a jerkin, as it would make the collar seem overdone, and chose deerskin riding boots that came up to the knee. He kept his usual array of silver jewellery, however, seven rings on his fingers and delicate chains dangling from his ears.

 

He’d surveyed himself in the looking glass from all angles, and came to the conclusion that he looked fine. Good, even.

 

Yet he was still nervous, for it was something he would never usually wear, and this was a strange place, he had no idea how people would react.

 

He paced the length of his sitting room and contemplated his situation. Not just being stuck in a leather collar to hide a massive bruise he’d gained from a very forbidden affair with his personal guard, but also ostensibly being here to broker continued peace between the kingdoms as well as perhaps finding a royal mate to solidify said peace.

 

He’d only been in the same room with the most likely candidate for about five minutes, and even that small amount of time hadn’t made him very hopeful for a happy life with his future mate.

 

The boy had seemed sickly and absentminded, and very much still a _boy_.

 

Jimin wasn’t in the habit of raising baby alphas, but he was afraid of that choice being taken away from him.

 

Sugar the fox made and appearance from under a couch only long enough to take a drink of the water and bite of the meat left out for him by the palace servants in pretty little porcelain bowls.

 

Jimin cooed at the little creature and it trotted over to him to rub against his leg and then it was off again, seemingly with purpose.

 

It was more than what Jimin could say for himself.

 

At last Yoongi stuck his head in the door and tore him away from his morbid musings, “Hallways in the immediate vicinity free of any innocent bystanders, my Prince.”

 

Jimin rolled his eyes and stomped to the door, kissed that smirk right off Yoongi’s face and continued on down the hallway, intending to visit one of the many gardens scattered throughout.

 

The royal gardens of Pyeongchang were a sight to behold. Various plants and sometimes animals floated gently about the space on invisible currents of air, housed in glass spheres of different sizes.

 

There were private little nooks with wooden benches, perfect for little intimate moments or reflecting on things.

 

It was also very humid and quite warm, something that was almost completely foreign to Jimin and something he quite enjoyed, so he spent as much time as possible in the one located closest to his room.

 

And apparently he was not the only one.

 

Prince Taehyung smiled kindly at him as he tried to calm down from quite the startle, hand at his throat on the suddenly hot leather.

 

“I’m terribly sorry. I had no idea someone was here.”

 

Jimin wrenched his composure back into check and returned the smile, tipping his chin, “That's perfectly alright. I was very deep in thought, so I did not hear you coming.”

 

Taehyung grinned a rather stunning boxy smile that had Jimin a little short of breath all over again, “Oh even if you hadn’t been deep in thought you would not have heard me coming, I’m quite light of tread. My eomeoni the Queen has threatened numerous times to sew bells into my clothing to spare her heart.”

 

Jimin found himself quite disarmed, and his lips formed a grin without much input from him, “That might not be the worst idea, I’m glad that it is not only me.”

 

“Oh you are far from alone. Do you mind terribly if I join you? I could send for tea, if you’d like?”

 

Jimin nodded before he could really think about it, “That would be lovely.”

 

Taehyung made himself comfortable on the little bench opposite Jimin’s, smiling all the while. He beckoned to the servant who had been following him at a little distance and instructed him to fetch them tea and three cups.

 

Jimin was a little confused, “Three cups? Will someone be joining us?”

 

Taehyung frowned just a little and tilted his head to the side, and Jimin couldn’t help but think he looked adorable that way, “Does your guard not like tea? I can have them bring him something else if he’d prefer?”

 

Jimin sat there in a stupor for all of a moment before he giggled, “Oh, dear. He’d love tea, I’m sure. I’m just not at all used to other people acknowledging him.”

 

Taehyung seemed to pout and Jimin wanted to die a little, “That must not be very pleasant. I am sorry if I have breached protocol, it is just that we have no such protocol here.”

 

Jimin shrugged, “Not at all. It pains me to say that it has less to do with protocol and more to do with rudeness. The courtiers of my home think a little to highly of themselves. For Yoongi’s sake I stopped correcting them long ago.”

 

Taehyung’s boxy smile was back and he turned the full force of it over Jimin’s shoulder, “Dear Yoongi, do please join us.”

 

Yoongi, just a little stunned from the whole interaction, stepped around the bench and bowed deeply before gingerly lowering himself onto it, careful to keep an appropriate distance between himself and Jimin, “I thank you, Your Highness.”

 

Taehyung nodded and clapped his hands together, “Splendid! Now we can all relax and enjoy ourselves.”

 

Yoongi nodded mutely and Jimin kept fiddling with the leather at his throat, unconscious of the movement.

 

Taehyung seemed to miss nothing, “Trying something new? I’ve seen something similar on Prince Soekjin, and I have to say, I quite like it! It is very functional, yes?”

 

Jimin smiled a little stiffly and nodded, “Yes, quite functional. My guard certainly approves.”

 

Taehyung’s eyes seemed to flit between them for a second before his smile widened and Jimin felt a little like he was in trouble, “Oh I am sure he does. Pray, may I make a suggestion?”

 

Jimin just accepted the indefinite confusion that seemed to come with being around the Prince and nodded, “Of course.”

 

“Well, seeing as you have those beautiful rings and earrings, I would suggest adding something silver to the leather piece, to make it seem more…fitting, yes? Likely it would draw attention away from any possible…blemishes. I myself employ this tactic, as I quite dislike using cosmetic powders and such for _concealment_.”

 

Jimin’s legs went numb and he could only stare and nod dumbly at the creature before him. Beside him, he could practically feel the tension seeping off Yoongi, and he knew the alpha was trying to keep his ability in control. He knew he himself was failing, because the bench he was sitting on turned abruptly cold.

 

Taehyung’s eyes widened and he lurched forward to place his hand on Jimin’s limp one, eyes imploring. Yoongi stiffened and abruptly threw his arm across Jimin, hand on his dagger but not unsheathing it, eyes sharp, waiting.

 

Taehyung ignored the threat of danger and kept his eyes on Jimin’s, “Please do not feel threatened. That was not my intention at all. I understand exactly the need for companionship that being a Prince and heir brings, and I would never _ever_ expose someone for it. Please.”

 

The three of them hovered there for a moment, Taehyung almost desperate, Yoongi waiting for any sort of sign from Jimin and Jimin just…clueless.

 

He has no idea how to react, whether he should trust this complete stranger, whether he should trust this potential _rival_.

 

It was when Taehyung’s lip started to wobble and his eyes started to shine that Jimin capitulated and smiled at him.

 

“Alright…I’ll trust you.”

 

Taehyung’s smile practically lit up the garden.

 

“On one condition.”

 

The smile dropped only slightly, but Taehyung nodded as if this made perfect sense to him, “What is your condition?”

 

“A secret.” Mutual leverage, more like. In their world, trust was a transaction.

 

Taehyung sat and seemed to consider it for a while. Their tea arrived along with a little table to place it on. He thanked the servants with a genuine smile and dismissed them. When they were gone, to Jimin’s utter confusion, he started to take out the pins holding some of his hair atop his head in an elaborate style in lieu of saying anything.

 

When he was was done, and his hair hung down in waves, almost pooling around his thighs on the bench, there were two massive white, triangular ears sitting on his head.

 

“I'm a kitsune. That is my greatest secret. I hope this means we can be friends.”

 

Jimin’s first coherent thought after a few moments of complete shock was that this secret seemed a bit disproportionate to him fucking his personal guard, but he did not voice it. The Prince must have really wanted to be friends with him.

 

He looked at Yoongi, who was stone-faced and staring straight ahead, which was what he usually looked like when he had absolutely no idea what to do. It gave Jimin a little comfort.

 

He turned back to Taehyung and his huge, glittering eyes and smiled with as much reassuranceas he could, “I’d love for us to be friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll I battled writer's block and uni to get this out I'm proud of myself.
> 
> Enjoy and leave a comment or kudos!


	8. King Jungkook.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeongguk recovers and somehow manages to be the only eligible Alpha in a gaggle of three unmarried Omegas.
> 
> And Hoseok gets some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno Fam.

Some hundred years ago the large domed ceiling of the Royal Baths had been painstakingly transformed into an artwork composed of millions of tiny little shards of brightly coloured pottery. By now, those bright colours had faded into a muted hue, but the final composition was nonetheless breathtaking for it, lit up by the various glowing blue stones situated throughout the cavernous space.

 

The Nine Tailed Fox, the patron god of the Pyeongchang royal family, stared down at him with impassive eyes, and it did nothing to distract him from the absolute chaos that was currently his life.

 

His Kingdom, newly acquired for he surely hadn’t wanted it yet, was on the precipice of civil war. His body was ravaged not only by his first disastrous and unheeded rut, but the poison that had nearly made it lethal was still at war with the burning cure Jiyong had all but funnelled down his throat. He was in a strange place he’d had to flee to from his own murderous council, vulnerable with only one guard. His parents…

 

Jeongguk slid down the curved side of the pool and let himself be submerged in the gently steaming water. He didn’t want to think about the sluggishly bleeding hole in his heart that had been rendered by first his abeoji's murder, and then exasperated soon after by his eomeoni passing of Mourning Sickness. He felt shame curl in his gut nonetheless. He hadn't even been there for his mourning rites, hadn’t been there to watch Hyunsoo be entombed in the same space as his father, side by side as they had always been in life.

 

His lungs were starting to protest, but he didn’t want to surface yet, didn’t want to see that eternal stare, somehow beyond him and his seemingly insurmountable problems.

 

But alas, he might have been a bit different from others, but he was still human. He pushed himself back up and gasped in much needed air. His hair was stuck over his eyes like a heavy wet curtain, and he flopped it back, knowing he looked probably all of ten years old. He turned to hoist himself out of the water, only to gasp again at the tall figure staring down at him with eyes that were made even more terrifying than that of the fox by high, sharp eyebrows. He swallowed several curses and what probably would have been a high-pitched squeal, “Seunghyun? I thought you preferred to wait by the door?”

 

Seunghyun’s face did not change, “I would be a terrible guard if I let the King drown.”

 

Jeongguk shrank down til his eyes were the only thing visible over the lip of the pool, “I’m fine. Just about done, in fact.”

 

Seunghyun tilted his head to the side, silently reminding Jeongguk that he had been instructed by the healers to spend as much time in the supposedly healing waters as possible. He would never embarrass the both of them by presuming to say it aloud, but Jeongguk knew well enough when he was being scolded as if he were an errant pup.

 

Their tense silence was thankfully shattered by the arrival of Seungwa. He came bustling in with an armful of towels and Jeongguk’s crimson, silk robe. A gift from the Busan Prince, as they had all exchange gifts, though Jeongguk hoped nobody asked him what he’d given. Only Namjoon’s brilliant mind had saved them from a potentially catastrophic faux pas in that respect.

 

The boy gave Seunghyun’s boots a look as if they weren’t supposed to be there, like he’d found one of Jeongguk’s shirts on the floor outside his quarters. He never looked up beyond Seunghyun’s navel, as his rank dictated, but he always managed to convey exactly what he was thinking nonetheless.

 

It served to remind Jeongguk that he surely did not appreciate Seungwa enough, and also to bolster him into finally hoisting himself from the water and stepping into the robe readily held open for him. His legs felt a little rubbery, and he gratefully leaned on the shoulder Seungwa extended to him. The fabric of his robe stuck to his wet skin uncomfortably, but he was too bone-tired to bother with drying off right then.

 

He hobbled from the room, sensing more than hearing Seunghyun’s quiet footfalls following after them. The trek to his room was luckily not very long, as whoever had designed the palace had been smart enough to place the sleeping quarters close to the bathing room. Still, by the time he reached his bed he just flopped onto it and groaned into the bedding.

 

He hated this, hated being this weak in a strange place. He’d barely been a king for more than a fortnight and he was already failing abysmally. He’d yet to interact with any of the other royals in any meaningful way. He barely remembered what anyone looked like from that first meeting. All he remembered was the Queen’s kind eyes, and the rest was blur.

 

Now that he was at least somewhat more cognizant, he could appreciate the amazing structure around him just a little bit more. His room alone was a marvel.

 

As a child, his eomma had often taken him to the beach, where he would splash about in the water and collect shells. When Namjoon was allowed to join them, Jeongguk had great fun finding crabs in all shapes and sizes to impress the older boy. He remembers watching a hermit crab shed it’s shell for a new one, and wondering what it would be like to live inside a shell. He used to spend long enough with a shell against his eye, staring into what seemed like an infinite spiral of space, that his eomma would pick him up and kiss his cheeks until he dropped the shell.

 

His room brought back to him that fascination. It was a glass shell, with that infinite spiral right above his bed. In his fevered state upon his arrival, he’d stared up into it with such melancholy. No matter how fast he could run, it seemed he would never reach the end.

 

He snorted to himself. In his sobriety, the shell held no fascination for him outside of the strange material it was made of. As soon as he’d realised what he was in the middle of, he’d asked Namjoon about it. As anyone could predict, the regent unleashed a veritable river of knowledge about glass and its properties, and how it was quite amazing even by the Western standards what the artisans of Pyeongchang had been able to render from glass. He mentioned that the air element inherent in the royal family had enabled them to craft such amazing things from glass, such as massive rooms, floating terrariums and so on.

 

Jeongguk vowed to himself that he would speed through the whole palace as soon as he could stand on his own two feet for longer than fifteen seconds.

 

Seungwa tutted at the foot of the bed, and Jeongguk heaved a sigh before hoisting himself off the bed. Now that he was relatively coherent, the Queen had called for another, hopefully more fruitful, meeting.

 

He’d never had to rely so heavily on Seungwa before, and he felt his cheeks burn as the servant helped him into his clothes, from his undergarments to the crown on his head. It was much heavier than he was used to, and he would have to have it redesigned as soon as he was back home, something he ordinarily would have had the time to do ahead of his coronation.

 

He felt somewhat awkward with it on his head, beyond that it wasn’t fitted well, in that all the other royals around his own age were princes and thus were not required to wear their crowns to something as simple as a gathering of Royals. He was also required to wear his chain of office, which at this point in time seemed to almost literally be the last straw to break the camel’s back.

 

His father had been a broad-shouldered man of endless strength, and his chain of office had been designed to suit that. The thing was heavy, more-so than the crown, and was too long. Normally, the insignia on the bottom link of a chain of office was supposed to rest on the centre of the chest, but this one hit Jeongguk just about at his navel. 

 

In his weakened state, it forced him to slouch, and his cheeks to burn. Seungwa urged him to sit and disappeared for a moment before reappearing holding a familiar wooden box in his hands. Jeongguk shot him a startled look, “Is it back?” He frantically patted his face, feeling for the familiar bumps that thankfully disappeared two summers ago.

 

He could not stand to see the pity in Seungwa’s eyes and so promptly buried his chin in his chest.

 

“It has not returned, my Pri-King. It is just that you are still flushed from the sickness, and I thought you might want to remove all visible traces of it.”

 

Jeongguk slowly tilted his head up, cheeks warm with fever and something else he couldn’t quite define, something that made his chest tight and his stomach squirm.

 

He sat still, feeling like he was sixteen summers old again as Seungwa oiled and powdered his face with pigments, an art the boy had been new to at the time, but had seemingly mastered by now if his precise and sure movements were any indication.

 

When he was done, he carefully dusted off anything that might have fallen on Jeongguk's clothing, and pulled him to his feet, somehow without making it feel that Jeongguk needed it at all.

 

At the door, where Seunghyun was patiently waiting, Jeongguk hesitated and looked at Seunghyun, “Where is Namjoon?”

 

Seunghyun bowed his head to him, “He is waiting for us.”

 

Jeongguk took a deep breath and pulled back his shoulders. He imagine himself replacing his spine with a sword. It would keep his back straight and his eyes sharp. Or at least, he hoped that was what it would do, and not just have him grimacing like he needed the chamber pot. He nodded at the door. The guard opened it for him, and outside they found one of the palace servants waiting to show them the way. For all that the palace was open and airy(literally), it was somewhat of the maze, for no matter how glass was rendered, it became somewhat uniform to the untrained eye.

 

They followed along behind the servant, and Jeongguk let his eyes wander. Passing by rooms and alcoves, other people who made no effort to hide their curious stares. Though, unlike the often nasty stares at home, these seemed inquisitive and more open. Still, the back of his neck burned and he kept his eyes strictly on all the very beautiful inanimate things.

 

They reached a large set of doors that surprisingly were not made of glass but instead some sort of blue stone, veined with little golden streaks. The servant bowed to him and sped off, and Jeongguk experienced a moment of panic in which he thought he would have to open the stone doors himself. The moment was thankfully fleeting and the doors opened seemingly of their own accord to reveal a room closer to what he had in the palace back home and not what he had come to expect in Pyeongchang.

 

There was a long table with many chairs, and an opposing view of endless clouds and other mountain peaks in the distance through the biggest window he had ever seen. It was not so much a window as it was a long, thick sheet of glass stretching across and over an immense balcony.

 

Jeongguk felt just a little more settled within himself. This he was used to, this he has done before.

 

Scattered throughout the room were the other royals, and thanks to the observation skills of his guard and the humorous wit of Seungwa, he was easily to identify who was who despite being nearly unconscious the last time he was in their presence. The pink-haired omega prince from Busan was situated at the window with the prince from Icheon, obviously having been talking but now looking at him instead. Namjoon was standing on the other end of the large window, looking to be having an intent discussion with someone with snow-white hair and glowing blue eyes, who’s purple robes denoted that he was a warlock.At the head of the table was the Queen and his consort, smiling at each other liked bonded pairs tended to do and that made a tiny iced over part in Jeongguk’s heart twinge.

 

The queen smiled at him and gestured for him to take a seat to his right, as was appropriate for his rank as the only other head of state in the room, and he tried not to look too grateful as he took his seat. The Prince Consort Hyunsoo took his own to the Queen’s left, opposite Jeongguk. Prince Jimin took his seat to Jeongguk’s right, and Prince Seokjin went for the seat to Hyunsoo’s left, but hesitated for a moment. The Queen smiled at him, “Prince Taehyung will be indisposed for a short time, so it is just us for today and you maybe take his customary seat.”

 

Jeongguk found himself to be engrossed with the swirling, ink-like patterns of colour embedded inside the glass of the table as Namjoon and the Warlock took their seats. One would have to be an idiot not to understand what and omega being “indisposed” for an unspecified amount of time meant. He hadn’t been around any omega aside from his eomma as a child, and though he knew having any sort of reaction was the hight of childishness. He was glad Seungwa had had the forethought to powder his ears as well, for he was sure they were glowing crimson at this point.

 

Once everyone was settled, the Queen cleared his throat delicately but decisively and smiled at them all, “Well, the first order of business is to welcome you all to Pyeongchang one final time. I know we’ve most of us been either travelling or recovering for the last two fortnights at least, and that this summit is occurring at the behest of the Citadel for reasons undisclosed to us.” He gave the Warlock a look that could only be described as amused, matronly disappointment. The warlock gave no outward reaction, but Jeongguk noticed that the air suddenly felt suddenly very nice on his overheated ears.

 

The Queen continued, “As none of us truly came here with a goal in mind, I shall hand over the remainder of the day to High Warlock Youngbae, as he is certainly more informed of our purposes for being here than we are.” He tipped his chin to the Warlock, “Youngbae, the floor is yours.”

 

The warlock, Youngbae, was leaning back in his chair and silently taping his fingers on the table. He seemed a little put upon to have to perform this duty, though if the resigned set of his shoulders meant anything, he was prepared. He straightened up in his seat, but only to rest his elbows on the table in a nonchalant manner, “From what I have been told by the Citadel, one of their oracles had a vision that revealed the necessity of this summit. More than that…” he shrugged, “I don’t know. But given recent events, I would not say this gathering is ill-timed.”

 

Jeongguk had known this was coming, and surprisingly he didn’t feel his breath hitch or his chest ache as he had been expecting. _Recent events_ meant the death of his father, and this placed him right at the centre of this mess.

 

From next to Jeongguk there was a delicate sound, high-pitched and breathy. He turned to it without thinking and momentarily stopped breathing. He didn’t know where to rest his eyes, everything about this Northern prince was striking. From his gleaming silver hair, braided in a crown about his head, to his plush, impossibly pink libs. He was clothed in the colours of his house, grey and silver, and it was surprisingly practical compared to what Jeongguk was used to seeing omegas in at home. Knee-high leather boots, what appeared to be stylised riding breechesand a rather short tunic with simple silver spaulders instead of the ornate epaulettes anyone of his rank would wear back home.

 

Prince Jimin seemed to dress more practically than most of the alphas on Jeongguk’s council, and he wondered if this was an indication of what the omegas of Icheon were like, or if it was just an indication of what _Jimin_ was like.

 

“You are referring to the fact that for the first time in remembrance, all four of the kingdoms have heirs in the line of succession around the same age.”

 

The Warlock stared at the Prince for a moment, seeming to reassess, before he slowly inclined his head in a nod.

 

From across the table, Prince Seokjin propped his chin on his hand, somehow magically doing that whilst maintaining good posture, something Jeongguk has been rapped on the knuckles for a million times “So what you are not saying is that the Citadel fully expects at least half of us to walk away from this summit with advantageous…arrangements.”

 

There was a beat of silence in the room as this new consideration sunk over them all. Suddenly, they were all looking at each other in a different light, and slowly, Jeongguk could feel all of their eyes settle on him like a bucket of ice water had been upended over his head. Given his recent experiences with ice-water, it was not a very pleasant sensation.

 

Jeongguk swallowed around his dry throat and reminded himself that if he were to slam his face into the table, it would undo all the work Seungwa had done to hide his ailment, and it would likely leave a smear on the table for all to see.

 

At the head of the table, the Queen cleared his throat and Jeongguk felt the eyes shift to Taehee like it had been a tangible thing, “This will certainly require very careful consideration.”

 

 

———

 

 

Two weeks at Pyeongchang and in the company of a fellow warlock who wasn’t as jaded as his peers at Icheon, and Hoseok was ready to defect and just stay exactly where he was.

 

He loved it here. He loved the gardens, the people, the food, he even loved the room he’d been given, as it gave him a splendid view of the stars at night, right from his bed. Every meal he sat with the ineffably charming crew that comprised both the Royal Guard and the Palace Guard. They were a raucous and delightful bunch, easily incorporating him into their circle and seeming to genuinely value his opinion.

 

Youngbae, the resident Chief Warlock was friendly enough, if a bit withdrawn in the company of others. When he was alone with him in his office, however, he answered Hoseok’s questions with a smile and a little map of the library that showed him to the subject they were discussing by _moving_ across the parchment as he himself moved through the palace. Just how he’d made such a thing was one of the multitude of things Hoseok wanted to learn from him.

 

Mostly, he was building up the courage to ask him if he could stay.

 

From what he could tell, Youngbae was yet to be assigned an apprentice. Hoseok had no idea why, as he was surely patient and instructive enough, and he had been the chief warlock for some time, and most chief warlocks were assigned their apprentice fairly soon into their post.

 

Hoseok was perhaps over the right age for an apprentice, but he hoped that an appeal to the citadel and a lengthy description of just how horrible of a teacher the chief warlock at Icheon had been would be enough to count in his favour. Hoseok didn’t exactly blame the bitter old coot. He’d been well on the way to being an embittered husk himself had he spent any more time in that cold tomb of a castle.

 

He snorted into his cup of whine at the antics of the Captain of the Royal Guard, Minjae, who was actually dancing on the table with the Captain of the Palace Guard, Changmin, and making it shake enough that trying to eat off his plate seemed pointless. Hoseok had been quite surprised to find that more than half of the guard was made up of omegas. He supposed the guard was more for prestige than anything else, as the huge glass walls surrounding the city and the fact that the palace was inaccessible save for a strictly controlled contraption surely meant they would never have to face off against any true threat. He shoved the last bite of his roll into his mouth and washed it down with his remaining whine. He had a scroll on the Royal Family’s distinctive gifts that he was eager to return to, no matter how entertaining and faintly arousing he found the two captains’ impromptu performance.

 

He made his way to the large spiral of stairs that formed the core of the palace and started jogging down them. About halfway to the specific alcove in the library where he’d left his book open on a table, he caught a whiff of something peculiar. Peculiar enough to stop him dead in his tracks and inhale deeply through his nose. It was unlike anything he’d ever smelled before, and also better than anything he’d ever smelled before. Without thinking, he let it lead him off his plotted course and down another flight of stairs to the floor he’d never visited before.

 

The ornate doors and unspoken yet tangible sense of _this is not where someone like you should be_ told him that this could only be where the Royal Family and it’s guests were housed. With the blood draining from his face, he realised abruptly what the smell was. Somewhere on this floor, _where he was most certainly not supposed to be_ , there was an omega in heat. Everything he knew about royal and heat, though admittedly not much, told him to turn back.

 

Still, the scent called to him, and like an idiot, he answered.

 

Too soon, he was standing in front of the biggest, most intimidating doors yet, and the dead end to his left told him that this must have been where the scent originated from. It also told him that he should disappear before his presence was detected and his behind was whipped.

 

He’d just turned on his heel when the doors flew open and he was smacked in the face with the brunt of that delectable scent. His vision went a little hazy and he slowly turned on his heel, right back to the doors.

 

There stood none other than the Prince of Pyeongchang himself, with his gleaming white hair loose and in a disarray, and _fox ears_ on top of his head, and robe that really did not deserve the term because it was entirely _see-through with sweat_.

 

Before Hoseok can do or say anything, he is yanked into the room and flush against the prince’s chest, where the scent and proximity combined to make his skin break out in goosebumps and certain parts of him perk up in attention.

 

“What’s your name, Warlock from Icheon?”

 

“Um.”

 

“Um? Quite unique. Will you do me a favour, Um?”

 

Hoseok shakes his head in an effort to get his wits about him and stutters out, “M-my name’s anything. I mean, my name is Hoseok, and I’ll do anything.” He cleared his throat, trying to rake his dignity back, “Anything I can do for you, I will.”

 

The prince smiled and it only served to make him look all the more fox-like, “Hoseok. I would like you to fuck me, if that’s alright by you.”

 

Hoseok felt electricity spark between his clenched fingers, a sure sign that all was not steady in his world, “B-but you’re the prince! I couldn’t possibly…”

 

The prince’s face flattened out, but Hoseok couldn’t help but feel as if he was being laughed at, “Is that your only objection? Me being a prince?”

 

Hoseok snorted despite himself, “It's not so much an objection as a statement of fact. A fact that places me fucking you firmly off-limits!”

 

The foxy smile returned, “I'd say it means that I get to decide whether I’m off limits or not. Hoseok, you are not from here so I’ll be patient and explain. It is the custom of my family that we should be free in our affections in pleasures, else a life of servitude to this Kingdom can become awfully strenuous and our people would suffer for it. I promise you, no punishment will befall you should you take what is offered. Now, I’ll ask again. Hoseok, warlock from Icheon, will you please fuck me?”

 

Well, there was really only one answer to be given.

 

Hoseok tried not to look like an overexcited fool as he nodded, but gave in quickly when a grin spread across the Prince’s face, looking all to silly and boxy to be seductive. He grinned himself, and for the first time in memory, it didn’t feel like he was using muscles long out of practise to do so.

 

He giggled, _giggled_ as he followed the prince’s long strides into the large room. He looked around in curiosity, as much as he could given how fast he was moving. The Prince favoured bright colours, and his bed was a riot of silks with intricately patterned dyed of orange, pink, purple and more. It was also circular, and easily big enough for at least seven people to spread out comfortably, and as he found out when he was tossed onto it like he weighed nothing, quite plush.

 

He was briefly distracted by the ceiling, which was a honeycomb grid of brightly coloured pieces of glass, and so was quite shocked when he felt the Prince straddle him.

 

“I'd like to make another request, dearest Um.”

 

Hoseok’s hands were shaking as he carefully placed them on the Prince’s thighs, bare for how the shift he was wearing had ridden up, “Anything, my Prince.”

 

The Prince leaned in close, his hands braced on either side of Hoseok’s head and his breath tickling his chin, “Call me Taehyung.”

 

“Of course, my Pr-um, Taehyung.” 

 

Deep, quiet laughter tickled his chin again, “You're quite amusing, Um. Now, are you obedient?”

 

Hoseok thought about how the Citadel had been adamant that the cost of a warlock honing their gifts was to live casteless. He thought about how the Citadel had sent him to Icheon to rot into a lifeless husk. He also thought about how one carriage ride with a prickly little alpha guard and his charge had been enough to bring long-dormant instincts to the fore, and how the head-strong, outspoken omegas of this palace had become more and more appealing to him for various reasons.

 

He thought about the omega sitting on his lap, looking self-assured and certain despite the sweat beading his brow and the snarls in the hair pooling around them on the bed it was so long.

 

He looked into those eyes, almost iridescently blue, “As I’ve said, Taehyung, anything.”

 

He was rewarded with a kiss that seared his lips, that untied the knot that had been steadily tightening in his belly and made sweat break out on his skin.

 

Taehyung rolled off him when they needed to surface for air and propped himself up on his elbows, “Get up and undress for me. Slowly.”

 

Hoseok had to shake himself out of a daze before he was able to get off the bed and onto his feet. Once in full view of that ravenous gaze, Hoseok felt the need to make the process of undressing look somehow appealing, but had no idea how to go about it. He discarded the thought and decided to simply go about it as he usually did, albeit slightly less rushed.

 

First the clasp of his fur-lined, purple cloak of velvet, which could be cumbersome at times, but mostly a blessing in the frigid temperatures of the North. He let it lie where it fell, and started unlacing his jerkin, lined with sheep’s wool. It joined the heap.

 

He was surprised to find the room fairly warm, though he should not have been surprised. Its main occupant was currently acting as a furnace, and there was a roaring fire next to the entryway.

 

He tugged his shirt out from where it had been tucked into his breeches and let it hand free as he undid the laces of his leather breeches just enough to yank it over his hips and down his thighs. Then followed an ungraceful bout of hopping about on one foot and he fought to dislodge the tangle of leather from his feet. He was just slightly winded when he was done, and stood with his hands on his hips, basking in the trill of laughter Taehyung couldn’t seem to stop. He was curled up on his side, squeezing his eyes shut as he wheezed around his giggles.

 

Impulsively, Hoseok dropped onto the bed and kissed every bit of cheek and forehead he could, his heart fuller than it had been in years. Taehyung didn’t seem to mind and wrapped his arms around Hoseok’s neck, his laughter subsiding, “You are a strange one, Um.”

 

Hoseok snorted and buried his hot face in Taehyung’s chest, mumbling “That is not going to stop, is it?”

 

Taehyung released another bout of giggles into his hair, “Never.”

 

Being this close to the prince again brought the full force of Hoseok’s arousal back into his belly, and without thinking his hand roamed the planes of Taehyung’s body, so hot to the touch. His thighs were soft and supple under his rough palms, and he slid them up and under the thin fabric of his robe, over his hips and up to his waist. He squeezed and inhaled deeply, savouring the almost sweet smell of slick and sweat. A growl escaped his throat despite his effort to reign it in, but to his surprise, Taehyung reached down to tug his face up to his own.

 

He kissed Hoseok’s nose and said, “Let me hear it all. Obedience need not be oppression, yes?”

 

Hoseok ducked his head into Taehyung's chest again to hide his blush and purred like a contented pup. This was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

 

Again, as if he weighed nothing, he was flipped onto his back and straddled. He growled and grabbed onto Taehyung’s thighs again, only to have them pinned to the bed beside his head in a strong grip, “Keep them there.”

 

Taehyung squeezed his wrists to emphasise his command, staring deep into Hoseok’s eyes and smiling all the while. He clambered off him and stood looming over him, feet planted on the bed on either side of his hips. Hoseok felt as if the skin on his ears were being scalded with boiling water, for right there above him, barely hidden by damp silk was a tuft of silver hair, appearing almost silver for its contrast to the golden tan of Taehyung’s skin. Hoseok imagined Taehyung lounging naked in the sun and could only pray to the stars that he would ever behold such a sight for himself.

 

Right then however, in front of his very eyes, the Prince untied the silk rope at his waist and pushed his robe off his shoulders, letting it slowly glide on a gust of air to join Hoseok’s pile of clothing. He gestured at Hoseok with a come hither motion.

 

Hoseok sat up and lifted his arms over his head so Taehyung could pull his shirt off. It joined the rest and now, but for jewellery, they were both naked.

 

This time when Taehyung lowered himself onto Hoseok’s thighs, it was with a slow, deliberate nature to his movements, almost sinuous. He hovered in a crouch over him and Hoseok nearly reached down to pinch himself in an effort not to end it all too quickly at the sight it revealed to him.

 

He snapped his eyes up to Taehyung’s eyes to preserve his sanity, though he might as well not have bothered. He was utterly enthralled by that gaze, a fly trapped in molasses.

 

Taehyung finally lowered himself onto his knees, and it moved him forward enough that he was now hovering over Hoseok’s cock, hard and resting on his belly. With a slow, delicious roll of his hips, he dragged his slick folds over it, and Hoseok kissed what little was left of his sanity a glad goodbye.

 

He hissed as if in pain and arched his back, grabbing onto the sheets beside his bed with a white-knuckled grip.

Taehyung lowered himself onto Hoseok’s chest and captured his mouth in another too-hot kiss, his hips still grinding down on Hoseok’s cock now trapped between them. With one hand gripping Hoseok’s jaw and the other reaching down to grip his cock, he guided it to his cunt and slowly, oh so lowly, sunk down into it.

 

Hoseok might have gone somewhere else in his head, because the next thing he knew, Taehyung had both his wrists in one hand and the other still gripping his jaw just the wrong side of gentle. He was gasping wetly into Hoseok’s neck and rutting his hips rapidly onto his cock.

 

Hoseok growled the loudest yet. His hands might have been restrained, but his hips certainly weren’t. He dug in his heels and thrust up with all his might.

 

It clearly surprised Taehyung, for he threw himself into a seated position and his head back, crying out. His grip on Hoseok’s wrists did not relent, however, and Hoseok decided he’d have to make do with his hips alone.

 

It was a lucky thing Hoseok was quite talented with his hips.

 

He pistons up into Taehyung’s scorching heat and clenches his teeth with the effort. In but a few moments, the prince’s entire body goes tense and he cries go silent mid-yelp, the noise seemingly punched out of him. Hoseok slows down his movements and finally manages to wrest his hands free. He wraps his arms around Taehyung and slathers kisses down his neck and shoulder.

 

Taehyung’s body goes limp and he sucks in a massive breath, only to whimper it out immediately as he sinks into Hoseok’s hold.

 

Hoseok cradles him and hums a mindless tune, carefully shifting him off of his still hard member and leaning back so the prince is resting on his chest. He rubs his back and slowly feels his body cooling from its fevered state. The room too, seems to cool down and he looks around for a blanket of some sort to cover them with.

 

Under all the silk, he finds a soft deerskin, and he pulls it over them both. He vainly tries to gather some the tangled mess that is Taehyung’s hair into a more manageable pile on top of the blankets, and very carefully does not touch the two ears nestled in the midst of the biggest knot.

 

He’s read of the Northern Kim Dynasty’s tie with the ancient Kitsune Inari, he still has not even the vaguest idea how to deal with the revelation of Taehyung’s nature.

 

He half wondered if he was meant to stay or leave, but he figured that the prince falling asleep on top of him and not the seven miles of bed otherwise available was good enough incentive and excuse to stay.

 

He cradled the nape of his neck and sighed, “I suppose I’ve no need of that book I was reading if I have a direct source asleep on my chest.”


	9. Prince Taehyung, Omega.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S THIS? ANOTHER CHAPTER WITHOUT A WAITING PERIOD OF 70 00000 YEARS?
> 
> Did I edit this? Nah. 
> 
> Do I ever edit anything? lol no
> 
> Am I gonna hand you this steaming pile of vhope anyway? Yes.

When Taehyung came to, he was a ripe, crusty mess. He didn’t move at all, simply breathed and took in the state of his body. He had approximately half of his hair in his mouth, which was bone-dry and tasted dreadful, his inner thighs were raw and he smelled like he’d taken a roll in horse manure. He vaguely registered that he was sprawled out on top of someone and that his cheek was stuck to a pectoral muscle with dried spittle. He was also fairly certain that his tail was nearly glued to the back of his thigh.

 

He was lazy enough to consider just staying there until the warlock woke up, but all the dried fluids he was saturated in had surpassed sticky to dry and that was enough motivation for him to peel himself off of his partner with a grimace. The movement roused his partner. He sat there astride the slowly waking Um and made and effort to wrangle his hair out of his face. The warlock groaned as he joined the waking world and Taehyung scratched his belly and watched him.

 

“Eugh.”

 

“I much agree. As delightful as the process of getting this way was, I can’t say I’m in love with the end result.”

 

Um stared at him with bleary eyes that were only slightly lucid and placed his hands on Taehyung’s hips, silent.

 

Taehyung chewed on his lip as he deliberated. Usually, when his heat was finished, he wished to be rid of whoever he’d spent it with as soon as politely possible. Now however, he felt the need for closeness. And besides, the partners he’d had before had never been quite so…satisfying. Hoseok not only had a perfectly sized cock and the mastery to use it exceedingly well, he’d also known exactly what Taehyung had needed throughout. When Taehyung had craved obedience, he’d given it and visibly enjoyed it. When Taehyung had wanted to be held down and used, Hoseok had had him pinned and gasping without needing to be asked.

 

He made his decision, “As a prince and omega, I’m quite privileged to have my own private bath. It is probably being filled as we speak. If you’d like to avoid using the public baths in your current state, you’re more than welcome to join me.”

 

Hoseok seemed taken aback, his eyebrows climbing high on his forehead and his lips puckering into a little circle.

 

They stared at each other for a moment, the sudden distance incongruous when Taehyung could feel Hoseok’s come seeping out of him and his soft cock nestled against the crease of Taehyung's thigh. Taehyung had half a mind to retract his offer and to climb off, but stubbornness won our and he stayed put, his again trapped between his front teeth.

 

Hoseok’s face straightened out, “I'd love to.”

 

Taehyung’s mouth pulled itself into a grin without much input from him, and, just as impulsively as that first request that lead them to where they currently were, leaned down to kiss the warlock sweetly on the lips.

 

He clambered off the bed before he could regret anything and gingerly made his way to his bathing room, where he could already smell the gentle scent of his favourite oils. He leaned against the door-jamb and peeked over at the warlock, who was sat up in the mess of silks on the bed and scratching his head. He caught Taehyung looking and promptly hopped onto his feet, all but trotting over to his side. Taehyung’s smiled at him and linked their pinkies to guide him into the steaming room, and delighted in the blush it brought to Hoseok’s cheeks.

 

His bathing room was built on the other edge of the palace that met the mountainside, so his bath was a bowl carved into the stone floor, in front of massive windows. Through some feat of trickery and genius, some generations ago the hot spring that fed the two palace baths had been branched off to supply the royal quarters with hot water as well. His very thoughtful servants had vacated the room after filling the tub, but pointedly had left out his hair grooming tray in such a way that he couldn’t miss it. Quite a few times they’d had to sit with him for hours to comb out his tangled, wet hair and they mourned every time some hair had to be sacrificed to his stupidity.

 

He bumped his chin into Hoseok’s shoulder, “Go ahead and get in. I have to brush out my hair first or we’ll be in a real tangle.” He chortled at his own little joke and sat down at the stone slab raised on prancing foxes of glass. It had a large looking glass mounted on the wall over it that made doing this by himself a little easier.

 

He’d picked up a silver comb when, “Can I help?”

 

He put down the comb and turned to the alpha, standing naked in the middle of the room. “Are you sure you are up to the challenge? As you can see, my hair is nearly twice as long as you are tall.”

 

His teasing tone had Hoseok pushing his shoulders back and a slyness creeping onto his brow, “I assure you, I can do anything once I set my mind to it. Just show me how.”

 

Taehyung stared at him, perfectly expressionless for long enough that the warlock shifted from one foot to the other. Then he grinned and held out his comb, “We start with the edges and work our way up. Oil helps for the worst of it, but I don’t like using it too much.”

 

The alpha nodded and sat right at Taehyung’s feet, pulling the end of Taehyung’s hair into his lap. He seemed to realise that some of the hair was tickling some rather sensitive areas, so he looked around for the nearest towel to cover himself with. His head was ducked so Taehyung couldn’t see much of his face, but the lurid red ears gave him some idea. He took pity and handed him one of the neatly folded cloths on his vanity table.

 

Then the work began in earnest. True to his word, Hoseok soon mastered the art of brushing hair until it was fine and silky to the touch. He maintained a look if fierce concentration throughout, and Taehyung found it sweet that he was clearly focused on not hurting Taehyung by yanking too hard at the knots. By the time they reached the crown of Taehyung’s head, his bottom was numb. Hoseok hesitated when they reached his ears, and Taehyung watched a variety of expressions play out on his face in the looking glass.

 

Curiosity won out, “Does everyone in your family have these?”

 

Taehyung leaned forward and propped his chin in his hand, elbow on his vanity table. He considered what to say. Since he’d been born, his parents had gone to great lengths to keep his irregularities known to only a very small selection of people. It was less a matter of safety, and more matter of how Taehyung was treated. The entire doctrine of how their people treated the crown was based on the concept of servitude, meaning that the Queen was less a ruler and more a servant to the people. It fell on the Queen to keep the peace and maintain good trade relations with other kingdoms. If the people viewed the Queen as a god to be worshipped instead, it could throw their entire kingdom into chaos. He’d been truly reckless in revealing his true self to this alpha, but something had told him from the start that his gut was to be trusted.

 

“No. I am the only one. There were others, hundreds of years ago, but I am the first in a very long time.”

 

Hoseok nodded, but still didn’t move to detangle the last bit of hair around his ears.

 

Taehyung felt a brief flash of grief at the thought that Hoseok’s hesitation was born out of fear, but swallowed it down. “It won’t hurt me if you touch them. I actually quite like having them stroked.”

 

Hoseok met his eyes in the looking glass and gave him a shy little smile. At last, he raised his hand and carefully stroked his fingers over the soft fur of Taehyung’s left ear. He jumped when they flattened back, and Taehyung giggled. “I'm teasing you. Go ahead, you need not be so careful.”

 

Hoseok huffed at him, “I've never even pet a dog before! How should I know?” His face fell as he seemed to realise what he’d just said, and Taehyung maintained a straight face for long enough to see the colour drain from his cheeks before he broke and started howling with laughter. He had to put his head on his arm, and his entire upper body was achey by the time he could breathe again.

 

He looked up into the looking glass to see Hoseok was scowling at him with his arms crossed, and he lost another indiscernible amount of time to helplessly wheezing into his arms. It was the careful but deliberate stroke of the comb through the hair around his ears that sobered him enough to sit up without breaking a rib. Hoseok’s attention was back on his hair, but he had a pout on his face that could bring lesser men to their knees.

 

Taehyung was not a lesser man, but his gut warmed. He reached up and caught one of Hoseok’s hands to give it a squeeze, “I apologise. I understand you are not as…familiar, with the Royals of the kingdom you were assigned to, and so this trips you up. But I’ve made you a promise that I intend to keep. You will not be punished. At least, not for merely offending me or fucking my thighs raw.” He grinned slyly at Hoseok’s flaming ears. He stood up from the bench without letting go and made a point of it to swish his tail across the warlock’s knees when he turned to him. Perhaps exposure was the best course of action, “Now that my hair is free of knots, we can bathe. Would you like to help me wash it?”

 

Hoseok stared at him for a moment before he nodded. Taehyung lead him over to the bath, which was still steaming. He poked his toe into it to be sure and deemed it the perfect temperature. His servants really did know him too well. He lowered himself onto one of the lower steps carved into the sides of the bath and Hoseok joined him. The water was up to their shouldersHe arranged his hair in the water around them to let it soak a while and turned his attention to a sullen looking Um.

 

“Do you like being a warlock?”

 

Hoseok gawked at him, “Do I what?”

 

Taehyung leaned his head back against the lip of the bath, maintaining eye-contact, “I asked if you like being a warlock. Is that a difficult question? Should I ask another?”

 

Hoseok smiled at him and shook his head, “I suppose it isn’t difficult. It’s just that being a warlock is all I’ve ever known, so it’s hard to explain everything I feel about it in a few words.”

 

Taehyung arched a brow, “Then give me more than a few.”

 

Hoseok shook his head at him again, though this time with a smile. He turned his gaze to the window, to the vast expanse of white clouds it revealed. “I don’t remember much from my life before the Citadel. When I was very small, my parents, simple farmers from Icheon, noticed that I was Gifted. My abeoji took me to the nearest temple the very next day, and so my life as a warlock began. Growing up at the Citadel was both very restricting and freeing at the same time. On the one hand I was being taught all of these wonderful things about myself, but on the other, I was told to suppress certain things about myself. As I’m sure you know, warlocks are supposed to be casteless, and well, you witnessed yourself how spectacularly I failed at that.”

 

Taehyung grinned and peeked down, where the water did nothing to hide what was unmistakably an alpha’s cock. “Hmm, and spectacular it was. I wouldn’t necessarily call it a failure. In fact I’d say you succeeded. Many, many times.”

 

Hoseok snorted and rolled his head back onto the lip of the bath, eyes on the ornate fox mosaic on the ceiling. He frowned, “What is it with this place and the foxes watching you bath. It’s positively voyeuristic. And besides, isn’t the Inari a spirit of air, and not water?”

 

Taehyung was surprised by his own laugh, and he had to sit up straight to avoid drowning, “Well, I don’t really have an answer for you there. The truth is that the Inari is in fact a spirit of all the elements, but the one he gifted my ancestors with was air. Perhaps it’s just the fox in me, but I like having him watch over me when I am at my most vulnerable. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the reason my ancestors put him there, to protect us.”

 

Hoseok nodded, “Probable. I must say, many of the books in your library don’t reveal much about the Inari. I’m very curious.”

 

Taehyung watched Hoseok from the corner of his eye, debating with himself on whether to reveal that all of their sacred texts regarding their patron god was held in the private library accessible only by members of the royal family and the Chief Warlock. The warlock had his eyes on the ceiling still, and despite what his gut told him, Taehyung decided to put his duty as a Prince first, just for this one small thing. “All I know is what I’ve been taught by my eomma, as he was taught by his own and so forth. It might all be nonsense for all I know.”

 

Hoseok turned his head to look at him with bright eyes, “Says the person with fox ears and a tail.”

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes, “I'm saying the stories could be nonsense, not the Inari’s very existence. I cannot doubt that, because I feel him. He’s part of me, he guides me.” He shuffled closer to Hoseok on the bench and leaned in close, “He lead me to you. He told me you were safe. Was he wrong?”

 

Hoseok’s face lost all traces of mirth and his eyes held a flux of hesitation, eagerness and some thing Taehyung could feel but not name. They considered each other for a moment, and then Hoseok finally nodded, his eyes now certain, “You can trust me. I feel happier here than I have anywhere else. This place feels like home already.”

 

Taehyung could feel his grin forcing his cheeks up and he leaned into Hoseok, their noses bumping before they kissed. He brought his hand up to cup Hoseok’s jaw, moaning into his mouth. Hoseok reached over to grip Taehyung’s thighs and pull him into his lap, the water making the movement easy. Taehyung gasped against Hoseok’s lips and shifted his grip from his jaw to his hair, much, much shorter than his own. “I truly hate to be the voice of reason, but if we have too much fun right now, the water won’t be much use to clean my hair with. So can we please do that first?”

 

Hoseok groaned and tossed his head back onto the lip of the bath again, “Fuck. Alright. Is it too hopeful of me to ask whether washing you hair happens faster than brushing it?”

 

Taehyung smiled and kissed Hoseok’s nose, “Much faster, actually, especially if you help me.”

 

Without letting go of Taehyung’s thighs, Hoseok stood up in the water and _tossed_ Taehyung’s into the deep end.

 

Taehyung didn’t have time to squeal before he was submerged, but he had enough presence of mind to growl when he surfaced, half his face covered by a wet curtain of hair. “That is _not_ how you get this done faster!”

 

Hoseok merely grinned at him with his hands on his hips, hard cock bobbing in the water, “I know. I just wanted to see what you would do.”

 

Taehyung gaped at him, “I'll show you what I would do!” He rushed forward and grabbed onto Hoseok’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around his waist, only to plant his feet against the side of the wall and _push_. Hoseok, it turned out, did have enough time to let out and unearthly screech as he was wrestled into the water.

 

They both surfaced, blinded by their own hair and spent a good deal simply laughing at each other. Finally, Taehyung scraped his hair off his face and shook his head at Hoseok, “Any more surprises or can we actually get to the task at hand now?”

 

Hoseok nodded at him with a sunny smile that transformed his entire face, “Your wish is my command, my Prince.”

Taehyung shook his head and nodded at a large vial situated on the window sill, “Pour some of that into the palm of your hand, and then rub it into my scalp. Don’t be afraid to scrub my ears, just don’t be too rough.”

 

Hoseok nodded, suddenly serious again and did as he was asked. They worked their way down to the ends of Taehyung’s hair in sections, and Taehyung was a little abashed to see that the water around them was darkened with dirt. He only washed his hair twice a year when his heat ended. The rest of the time he relied on the help of his servants to brush it clean. Washing it any more than that made his scalp oily and his hair brittle. He wasn’t normally bothered by it, but nobody besides his servants, his eomma and himself had ever witnessed this process.

 

He stood on one of the steps and started wringing out his hair, which Hoseok caught onto quite quickly. He started with the ends of Taehyung’s hair and Taehyung worked from his scalp down, and they met in the middle with shy smiles and red cheeks, as if they hadn’t fucked mere hours before.

 

Finally they stepped out of the water, hands and feet pruned. Taehyung guided Hoseok over to a spout raised high in the wall. He pushed down on a lever to pump hot water over himself after handing the bulk of his hair to Hoseok to hold outside of the stream, then he nodded at him to do the same. “This way we rinse off any nastiness that might remain.”

 

He seated himself at his bench once again, and this time carefully combed a scented oils through his hair, joined a quarter of the way through by his new trusty helper.

 

“And now, we braid it. Would you happen to know how to braid hair?”

 

Hoseok shook his head, “Is that where you twist it into a rope?”

 

Taehyung giggled, “Sort of. I’ll show you. We’ll divide out a section for you to practise on.”

 

Some time later proved that Hoseok would need many more hours of practise before he mastered braiding hair. The long braid that he’d wrestled together was uneven and skew, and he looked a little ashamed of himself when he handed it over for inspection.

 

Taehyung found the horrible braid to be the most precious thing he’d ever beheld and placed a big fat smooch on Hoseok’s mouth to thank him for it. He made relatively quick work of braiding the rest of his hair, and wound Hoseok’s around his own handiwork to proudly display that he had a bunch of feelings for an idiot.

 

Said idiot was staring at his tail when he looked over at him, “What about your tail?”

 

Taehyung grinned disarmingly, and then he whipped his tail at Hoseok and doused him full in the face to give him and idea of how much waiter all that fur could retain. The warlock sputtered and looked at him, shocked. Taehyung giggled helplessly at the look on his face, “Since I can’t wring it without doing grievous harm to myself, I have to comb out the moisture with an especially fine comb and then let nature do the rest.”

 

He let Hoseok have a go at combing his tail fur, which he was far better at than braiding and seemed to enjoy much more. Then he stood up on wobbly legs and remembered that he hadn’t eaten since before his heat. Warm arms twined around his waist and they smiled at each other like morons. “Feed me, warlock, or I shall faint in your arms like a damsel.”

 

Hoseok snickered at him as they finally exited the bathing room to a nearly transformed bedroom. The silks on his bed has been replaced with a single, dark green cotton blanket that he adored for how fine and soft it was on his sensitive skin after heats. There were furs piled in the middle for him to arrange as he liked, and the gauzy lilac curtain, that he disliked during his heat for making him feel confined, had been returned to its rightful spot. There were still a multitude of pillows in all different colours scattered about, just as he liked.

 

Best of all however, was the variety of covered dishes waiting for them on a low table by the window. Taehyung’s keen sense of smell told him to expect a simple vegetable broth and rice to soothe their empty stomachs, and apple cider to wash it down with.

 

Taehyung pulled on the robe that had been left out for him, this time of a grey cotton instead of the sheer chiffon he’d been wearing before. He heard a confused noise and turned to a still naked Hoseok looking around in bewilderment, “My clothes aren’t here.”

 

He smiled and stepped over to Hoseok and hooked his chin over his shoulder from behind, kissing the hinge of his jaw, “They are probably being laundered. There is a robe here for you in the meantime.”

 

Hoseok shrugged on the robe, though he still looked a little discomfited. Taehyung understood. Despite their easy exchange thus far, Hoseok was treading completely new territory.

 

The moment was shattered by the synchronous growl of their stomachs, and so they stumbled over to the food, giggling all the way.

 

Bellies full and lethargic, they lounged on the bed after Taehyung had arranged the furs and pillows just so.

 

“So I’ve told you what it is like to be a warlock, why don’t you tell me what it’s like to be a kitsune? And a prince on top of that.”

 

Taehyung, who had his chin propped on a hand laying flat on Hoseok’s chest, used the other to trace patterns on the flesh before him whilst he formulated an answer, “It can be lonely, for so few people can know about my true nature. I’ve been given the gift, this blessing form the god who keeps this very palace in the sky, but I cannot share it with my people.”

 

Hoseok frowned, “Why not? Would they not accept you?”

 

Taehyung shook his head, “Quite the opposite. I would be deified, sainted. Historically, rulers who are considered to be divine do not have their people’s best interest at heart. That was one of the imperatives the Kitsune gave my family in the very beginning, to do what is best for our people, or all the gifts we have been blessed with are a gross bastardisation of what a ruler aught to be.” He sighed, “This is all good and well, but at times I wish I could share it all. I love my people and they love me, and that is why I want to give them all that I can, but I would rather die than have their love turn to blind infatuation.”

 

The base of one of his ears were scratched, and his eyes fell closed in bliss as he groaned. “You trusted me not to be infatuated. Why?”

 

He opened one eye to pin his gaze on Hoseok’s, “Haven’t I told you this already? He guided you to me and opened my heart to you. And besides, the only times you’ve knelt before me was to bring me pleasure of the carnal kind, not worship. Anyhow, back to what it’s like to be a prince. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that things are improving. Though this summit was ill-timed, it has brought me not only you, who I adore, but another friend whom I suspect it won’t be long before I adore.”

 

Hoseok’s ears were flaming, and he chose to ignore Taehyung’s proclamation of adoration for now, “Who? One of the princes? Is it that alpha from Gunsan? I thought he’s been ill this whole time?”

 

Was that jealousy Taehyung could sense? That would not do. “Firstly, he is a King and not a prince. Secondly, what if it is?”

 

Instead of the answer he was expecting, Hoseok surprised him with, “I cannot imagine you in the South. From all I’ve heard, they treat omegas as lesser than alphas. And seeing as he is a king, he would expect you to join him in his kingdom, and you love your people too much to leave them.”

 

Taehyung considered Hoseok, who kept gently scratching the fur at the base of his ears, in a new light. “Well I suppose it’s lucky he’s not the one speak of, then. I meant the prince from your kingdom, Jimin. I feel a connection with that one. Not like the one I feel with you, mind. He’s far too in love with that surly little guard of his to notice me even if I were to have amorous intentions.”

 

Hoseok’s eyebrows almost climbed high enough on his forehead to merge with his hairline, “You know about that?”

 

Taehyung grinned and placed a hand on Hoseok’s forehead to smooth out the wrinkles, “I noticed it as soon as I saw them, before he told me. It is not something anyone would see, but as you know, I’m not just anyone. It was also the first time I saw you. You looked nearly as sour as the little guard, but I suppose that was due to having traveled in close quarters with him.”

 

Hoseok snorted and rolled his eyes, “You haven’t the faintest. I’m fairly certain the guard, his name is Yoongi, hated me in the beginning. To be honest, I was expecting that. I was a stranger who suddenly had to share a small enclosed space with his charge and lover. It was the Prince who surprised me. I don’t know if you’re aware, but the relationship between warlocks and royals are a little strained in Icheon. Dismissive at best if not outright scorn. But him? He was polite, even warm, throughout the whole of our trip here. It was the first time I’d met him, so I had been expecting him to act just like everyone else in his family, but instead he offered to share his furs with me.” Hoseok smiled and shook his head, still finding it somewhat bizarre.

 

Taehyung grinned, “You see? There is something special about him. He is kind at his very core, despite having grown to adulthood in such a horribly loveless place. I wish to become his best friend.”

 

Hoseok seemed to realise something, because a grin stretched across his mouth, “I'm afraid you are too late. He already has a fox for a best friend. Its name is Sugar, and it ate one of my boots.”

 

At that, Taehyung started laughing and didn’t stop until he couldn’t move for his aching muscles. “If anything, that means we are fated to become the best of friends! Anyone who can treat such a sly little creature with love deserves my devotion! Do tell me, how did this come about?”

 

“Your prophesied friendship or the fox eating my boot?”

 

Taehyung growled playfully and smacked Hoseok on the chest, “How did Jimin come to befriend the little fox named Sugar, you dolt!”

 

Hoseok snickered and weakly fended off the blows, “It jumped in through the window! One moment we were observing the brilliant colours of the forest, the next there was a little fox in the Prince’s lap! I confess, both Yoongi and I were ready to toss the little thing right back out of the window, but it licked the Prince’s cheek and that was that. That didn’t stop Yoongi from watching it at night, however. I think he didn’t trust it not to eat the Prince in his sleep until it hadn’t done so for three nights at least.”

 

Taehyung shook his head and chuckled, “And me? Do you trust me not to eat you whilst you slumber?”

 

His taunt was met with a sly grin and a palm to his bottom, “I don’t think I’d mind too terribly if you were to eat me.”

 

“Oh? And which part of you shall I devour first? Your sweet lips? Your puffy cheeks?”

 

Hoseok leaned forward to cup Taehyung’s cheek in another one of those moments in which he knew exactly what Taehyung wanted, and kissed him hard. “How about my sweet cock?”

 

The heated atmosphere burst like a soap bubble and Taehyung wheezed into a consternated Hoseok’s neck, “I'm sorry if this is a surprise for you, but that part of you, of anyone, isn’t sweet at all!”

“Well how was I to know! I've never tasted my own or anyone else’s cock! I thought it was sweet like omegas are down there.”

 

“‘Down there’? I adore that you’re bold enough to tell me what my cunt tastes like, but too shy to use the actual word.”

 

Hoseok, whose ears appeared to be steaming, made a warbling noise and sprang to his feet, still on the bed, “I'll show you shy!”

 

Taehyung sat up from where he had fallen back from Hoseok’s sudden movement, leaning back on his hands, grin just a tad feral, the glint of those shiny, sharp incisors suddenly seeming more prominent than before. “Oh, please do so. I’m curious as to what your mind will concoct.”

 

Hoseok’s throat bobbed as he gathered his meagre allotted amount of bravery close to his chest. Tangibly, the memory of their first meeting mere days ago played across the inside of his eyelids, and like then, he stuttered. “S-suck my cock.”

 

Taehyung’s face didn’t change, but he climbed to his knees and put his hands on Hoseok’s shaking thighs. “I'd absolutely love to suck your cock, sweet or not. Remember to scream my name and not my title, yes?”

 

Hoseok nodded and Taehyung leant in, but fear made Hoseok grab his head in both hands before he could quite connect with his hardening cock, “P-please be careful of the teeth. I didn’t mean I’d like you to _really_ eat me-”

 

“Worry not, Um. I promise not to take a bite. Now can I please suck your cock?”

 

Hoseok nodded shakily and Taehyung was finally able to place a wet kiss on the head of his cock, flicking out his tongue to tease the slit. Hoseok made some sort of high-pitched noise that Taehyung had to do his best not to laugh at. He focused on the task and hand and, very slowly as to be careful of his teeth, sunk down on Hoseok’s cock as far as he could. He swirled his tongue around and moaned, and and just as slowly pulled his head back, until he held the head in the pucker of his lips.

 

He decided that he deserved to torture Hoseok just a little, and so kept up his maddeningly slow pace as he felt the tremors in Hoseok’s thighs increase. Hoseok tightened his grip on Taehyung’s head and attempted to set the pace. There was resistance for three even slower downstrokes before Taehyung seemed to give in, or more likely, _allowed_ Hoseok to tug and pull his head on and off his cock.

 

Being a gifted with mastery over the element of air lent Taehyung one quite unique talent that was perfectly employed in situations like these.

 

If he concentrated, he didn’t need to breathe.

 

When Hoseok seemed to realise that it had been a while since breath had passed through Taehyung’s nostrils, he pulled him off his cock in half a panic. Taehyung grinned up at him, saliva glinting on his chin, “Why the hesitance, Um? Haven’t you read enough of that big old tome in the library to know what I can do? No? Let me show you, then.”

 

Without the guidance of Hoseok’s hands, he relaxed his throat and pushed his lips down the shaft of his cock until the hair at the base tickled his nose, and placed his hands over Hoseok’s to show him what to do.

 

Hoseok seemed to realise what he meant, and built up the pace again, though this time using his hips instead of his grip on Taehyung’s hair. Once again, Hoseok proved himself to be skilled with regards to the movement of his hips.

 

There was a single, light as air scrape of teeth up his shaft, and Hoseok went tense. His cock throbbed in Taehyung’s mouth, and he was surprisingly quiet as he came. He had the presence of mind to pull his hips back far enough so that the knot swelling at the base didn’t swell inside Taehyung's mouth.

 

His knees gave out, and he slowly sunk down and free of Taehyung’s lips until he was limply leaning into his chest and panting.

 

Taehyung wrapped his arms around Hoseok and kissed his head repeatedly, “You sure showed me, darling.”


End file.
